


Bound

by ClockworkDragon



Category: One Piece
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Swearing, injury of an animal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2018-07-11 16:05:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 30,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7059685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockworkDragon/pseuds/ClockworkDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of Dressrosa, Cavendish decides to stay out of the spotlight in order to secretly track down a mysterious treasure. When the treasure is finally within reach, however, the appearance of Bartolomeo the Cannibal causes Cavendish's meticulous plans to crumble. Through a series of bad decisions and disastrous events, the treasure falls into the hands of enemy pirates. To make matters worse, the effects of a devil fruit bind Cavendish and Bartolomeo to each other. In order to get back the treasure, and free themselves from the devil fruit's curse, they must put their differences aside and work together. With personalities like theirs, its easier said than done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ THIS  
> First of all, I'd like to thank you for reading this! I know its been a while since I last posted a fic and man is it good to be back. I've been working on this for months and am so happy to finally start posting! This is my first Bartocav fic and I am SO EXCITED to share it. The world needs more of this ship, like come on.
> 
> That being said, with the massive plethora of characters introduced in Dressrosa, Oda obviously didn't have time to flesh out the crews for Bartolomeo and Cavendish. Because of the lack of canon characters, I had to take some liberties with the story. I created characters for both crews, and they play major roles in the story. Though they aren't canon, I hope you grow to like them as much as I do.
> 
> Also, though we have seen Bartolomeo and Cavendish fight, Oda didn't go too in depth with their techniques. Therefore, I improvised a lot of their moves, especially with how Bartolomeo's barriers work.
> 
> In regards to the rating and tags. Right now they look pretty tame, but this fic will have mentions of darker themes. I will change the tags accordingly once those chapters are published. I will also put a warning in the notes to be safe, so keep an eye out.
> 
> Lastly, I had originally planned to write this for the opbigbang on tumblr, but the story was taking too long to write so I didn't make the deadline. Fortunately, I have a few chapters already done so I'm going to be able to update weekly!!!
> 
> Ok that's all I have to say. Thanks for putting up with my blabbing! Enjoy the story!!!!

Pain burst in his cheek as coarse knuckles dug into his flesh. The punches came in quick succession, relentless and seemingly determined to permanently fuck up his face. Cavendish received each blow without complaint. He was kneeling in the middle of a room; hands chained behind his back, feet roped together─ the usual treatment. There wasn’t a lot he could do to escape at the moment, especially not with several marines also present in the room. He’d wait, in silence, until the ideal moment.

His captor’s fist connected with his face, and Cavendish felt his teeth split open his lip. Warm blood pooled in his mouth, and another part of him, the part kept chained deep within his mind, stirred with dark excitement. He quickly shut out the feeling, spitting it onto the stone floor with the blood from his mouth.

The marine currently ‘interrogating’ him, paused to catch his breath. He had been trying to get information from the blonde for almost an hour, but Cavendish just wasn’t feeling particularly chatty at the moment. As the marine wiped the blood from his knuckles, the Captain of the Beautiful Pirates tried not to think about how disfigured his face probably looked. It would be weeks before he was back to his radiantly handsome self.

“Do you feel like talking now, or should we go another hour?” the marine asked.

He was a reserved man, not as emotional as some of Cavendish’s past torturers. The marine wasn’t enjoying this session any more than the bruised pirate. Cavendish respected men like him. Unfortunately, the blonde’s face was still messed up as a result of his punches.

“See, I’d love to help you out,” Cavendish wheezed, “but there’s this mysterious swelling all over my face that is making it really bothersome to talk.”

He flashed the marine his most charming smile, but the other man just sighed in annoyance. Perhaps the effect was ruined by his broken nose and bloodied teeth. Such a shame.

“Why are you protecting him? As far as our intel says, your crews aren’t in any sort of alliance. We are offering you your freedom in exchange for the location of him and his crew. That is a generous trade.”

The smile fell from Cavendish’s lips. There was truth in what the marine had said, and Cavendish had asked himself the same questions several times in the past 24 hours.

“You’re right, that is generous. I almost feel like I’m not a good enough catch for you. Looks like I’ll have to start terrorizing more people…”

“You piece of shit!” One of the other marines suddenly came up behind him and grabbed a fistful of hair. “This isn’t a joke.” He pulled the blonde up off the floor and Cavendish had to swallow a curse as sharp pain raced through his skull.

“That’s enough,” commanded the first marine.

“But sir─”

“I said enough.”

The grip on Cavendish’s hair went slack, and he stumbled, knees cracking on the stone floor. Taking a calming breath, he lifted his head to meet the stoic gaze of his captor.

“Your stubbornness has gained you nothing. We will return in an hour. Perhaps you will be more cooperative then.”

The marine left the cell, followed by the guards, and once the door was shut Cavendish breathed a sigh of relief. His body, suddenly lacking energy, slumped to rest completely on the ground. The floor was undoubtedly filthy, but he pressed his face into the stone, grateful for the soothing cold.

He lay there, exhausted and hungry. He wanted nothing more than to eat a warm meal and then take a week long nap. Of course, neither of these things were an option right now. He had to break out of this cell, find his crew and then go back to living his beautiful, carefree life. A life without a certain troublesome pest. This was all his fault.

Cavendish should have never gotten involved with that asshole. He should have walked right out of that bar as soon as he saw him. He should have known better. It would have saved the blonde a lot of pain if he had just walked away.

And what frustrates him the most is that─ despite all the crazy shit the two of them did, despite the harsh words and confusing feelings, despite the burning betrayal─ he still couldn’t bring himself to let go.

He knew the man’s location. With a simple sentence Cavendish could be worry free and back under the open sky. It should be easy. But nothing involving Bartolomeo the Cannibal was ever easy.

Cavendish had learned that the hard way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like prologues *shrugs*  
> Comment and kudos if you enjoyed it! And feel free to bother me on tumblr: c-dragon-pirates.tumblr.com


	2. Datura Metel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my betas breath-of-night.tumblr.com and a-passingstranger.tumblr.com  
> You saved me. Many times.

Cavendish had just ordered another shot of whiskey when the heavy doors of the bar were slammed open. The sum of people present, even those too intoxicated to stand, turned their gazes to the entrance with interest. Cavendish was no exception, but as soon as he saw the man framed in the doorway, he turned back to the bartender, and with a long sigh, asked for his shot to be tripled.

Why is it, that out of all the goddamn islands in the New World, Bartolomeo the Cannibal had to find this one?

It had been a mere two weeks since Cavendish had fought on Dressrosa. Though the battle had ended well, and he had willingly pledged himself to Monkey D. Luffy, Cavendish was not eager to be involved in any more high profile events for a while. It's true he loved being in the spotlight, but the blonde man was no stranger to the shadows either. 

Cavendish had purposely put Dressrosa out of his mind and remained off the Marine’s radar for a reason. He had come to this island to investigate a very interesting rumour, and he didn't want any unwanted competition. 

Bartolomeo was hardly competition, but he was most definitely unwanted.

Perhaps there was a chance that the disgusting man wouldn't see Cavendish. He'll just keep his head down and-

Fuck, they made eye contact. 

Cavendish watched in quiet horror as a grin spread across Bartolomeo’s face. It was the grin of a lion who had found prey to toy with. He began to weave his way through the crowd, who by now had lost interest in the newcomer. The bartender passed Cavendish his shots, which he immediately drank. The last glass hit the bar just as Bartolomeo spoke.

“You may want to slow down,” he said, gesturing to the empty shot glasses. “Wouldn’t want to upset your delicate stomach.”

Cavendish decided not to reply. Perhaps if he ignored the other pirate, he would lose interest and leave. 

“Huh, maybe you’re already too drunk to understand me.”

Bartolomeo waited, then grinned wider at the blonde’s resolute silence. He pulled out the barstool beside Cavendish and made a show of sitting down in the loudest, most obnoxious way possible. Once the childish display was over, he shouted to the bartender for some beer.

“Never thought I’d see your pompous, narcissistic ass in a place like this.”

“I never thought your dull, tacky mind would know the words ‘pompous’ or ‘narcissistic’” Cavendish snapped. 

Bartolomeo turned to meet Cavendish’s glare, his hideous mouth twisting into a triumphant smirk. 

Cavendish frowned. He had allowed himself to be baited into acknowledging the other’s presence. It seems he was just as childish when it came to dealing with the inelegant pirate.

“I’m bein’ serious, Cavvy,” Bartolomeo continued, in a tone that was anything but serious. “This place is too low class for your uptight tastes. Why the hell are you even here? Did all the five star establishments turn you away? Were you not famous enough for ‘em? Was the feather on your hat not big enough? No, wait, I got it!” The bastard actually paused for effect. “You were too blonde for the other blondies.” 

Cavendish had to will his hand away from his sword. Bartolomeo was beneath him, and Cavendish couldn't afford to make a scene. He knew how the vulgar man worked; he had seen his tactics back in the Colosseum. Bartolomeo was gifted at making his enemies lose their temper. His words and actions made even the most level-headed people recoil in disgust, fear or anger - depending on the situation. Cavendish refused to play his game. He had more important things to be doing. 

“I'm sure you worked very hard to come up with such a creative opening monologue, but are you quite finished? I have things I need to attend to and I don’t have time to spare for your childish antics.” As he spoke, Cavendish paid the bartender, smiling sweetly. The man blushed, but quickly bowed and left to put the money away. Cavendish could feel Bartolomeo roll his eyes.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered.

“Did you say something? You know you really shouldn't mumble. Though I suppose it is rather hard to speak when you have those ridiculous fangs to work around.” 

Bartolomeo’s eye twitched. Cavendish decided it was time to make his graceful exit. He managed to get off his barstool before the man spoke.

“These fangs are for eatin’ meat.” The low voice came from directly behind Cavendish and he turned to come face to face with Bartolomeo. He was close, so close that Cavendish could see the flecks of crimson hidden in the brown of the other's eyes. Those eyes pinned him with their intensity.  
“They’re a testament to my strength. Like all great hunters, the sight o’ these fangs brings fear to my prey. These fangs have cut into flesh countless times.” 

Cavendish was unsure if Bartolomeo was referring to animal flesh or human flesh, and the latter wouldn't actually surprise him with a name like ‘Cannibal’. Either way, this speech was over dramatic, and that was coming from him.

“Someone like you, who only eats flowers,” Bartolomeo continued, “would never understand their purpose.”

Cavendish wasn't an idiot; he knew this conversation had become contextual. He also knew that he did not like what Bartolomeo was implying. Despite what most people thought, Cavendish was not some pampered rich guy who decided to go pirating for fun. He’d fought in many battles, he'd killed many people. He was not soft.

He raised his chin and met the intense red-brown stare. Bartolomeo wanted to speak through metaphors? Two could play that game.

“Have you ever heard of Datura Metel?” Whatever Bartolomeo had expected him to say, it wasn't that. Cavendish took great pleasure in the look of confusion on the man’s face before continuing. “It is a flower, more commonly known as Devil’s Trumpet. It's quite beautiful, both humans and animals have been captivated by it in the past. But they had mistaken beauty for fragility .”

Cavendish stepped even closer to Bartolomeo, eyes becoming shaded, voice prickling like thorns.

“The Devil's Trumpet is a highly toxic species, and those foolish enough to be disarmed by its beauty went mad from hallucinations before death herself took pity on them. You'd do well to never underestimate a flower.”

Neither man moved, too engrossed in the tense energy between them. Bartolomeo had lost his confident smirk, and seemed to be searching Cavendish’s face for something. Cavendish was occupied with trying to identify the thoughtful look hiding behind those most intriguing eyes.

“Captain.”

Both men abruptly turned to look at the newcomer. A woman with tan skin and deep purple hair was glancing between them. Her full lips twitched in amusement at the confusion her statement had caused. She turned to Cavendish and bowed slightly.

“Apologies, I should have just used your name.”

“Don't worry about it, Cyra.” Ignoring Bartolomeo’s presence once more, Cavendish turned fully to face her. Cyra was his first mate and was supposed to be in town investigating. If she had appeared to him in person, then she may have found something. Something big.

“Have I interrupted?” Cyra asked. She glanced at Bartolomeo, and though her features remained unchanged, Cavendish knew she recognized him from their time in Dressrosa.

“No, I was just leaving.” Cavendish spoke evenly, as though the previous tension had never existed. Bartolomeo had also gone back to acting like himself - one hand in his pocket, the other picking at his nose. How vulgar.

Without any parting words to Bartolomeo, Cavendish spun around, cape flaring out behind him, and headed for the door. He did not have to look to know that Bartolomeo’s eyes followed him until he was out of sight.

\--------------

It was late by the time Bartolomeo left the bar, though substantially early by his standards. Compared to when he had first arrived, hardly any people remained in the streets. Some previous islands had towns that were bustling during the day and just as lively at night. This was not that sort of town. Few people still walked down the streets, and judging by their hooded eyes and shady loitering, they weren't good company.

Some of the men watched Bartolomeo as he picked his way down the broken-bottle road. The brave ones dared to step towards him, but a cutting glare and flash of fangs turned them cowards once more. It was too easy.  
Bartolomeo had been in a sour mood since his surprise encounter with that Prissy Blonde earlier, and he was itching for a fight. It didn’t seem like anyone here had the balls to give him one though. So he continued towards the harbor, thoughts of blue eyes and poisonous flowers filling his head.

“Boss, you’re back!”

The voice called out to Bartolomeo as soon as he stepped foot on deck. He looked up in time to see a shadowy figure leap from the crow’s nest. Using one of the many hanging ropes, the boy swung down to land before his captain, tripping at the very last second.

“Ow…” The boy stumbled to his feet, rubbing his sore butt as he stood.

“You still suck at landings, Pep.”Bartolomeo deadpanned. Pepper smiled sheepishly, but remained unconcerned by his captain’s words.

“I’ll get it next time, I swear!”

Pepper was the youngest member of the Barto Club at only sixteen years old. Bartolomeo had picked him up on a crappy island back in the first half of the Grand Line. Despite his age and small build, the kid was hard working and a decent shot. Even so, the rest of the crew tended to keep him away from any serious battles. 

“‘Course you will,” Bartolomeo said, ruffling Pepper’s hair. “Anyway, I’m going to crash. Keep a sharp eye out for ―”

“Wait, wait! You’ll never guess who I saw earlier!” Pepper said, pulling at Bartolomeo’s coat sleeve with excitement. Bartolomeo did not share this excitement, because he had a pretty good guess as to who Pepper saw. And he had just managed to stop thinking about said person.

“I saw White Horse Cavendish! He was walking on the pier not too long ago! I think he may be docked nearby! How awesome is that? We haven’t seen him since Dressrosa and it's such a coincidence to meet here―” Bartolomeo liked this kid, really he did. But holy fuck he needed to shut up. Bartolomeo opened his mouth to interrupt but Pepper pressed on, “We should invite him and his crew to have a drink!”

The entire world seemed to freeze. The wind died down, the creaking of the ship stilled to silence, even the waves crashing to shore faded to the background of Bartolomeo’s consciousness.  
“What did you just say?”

Even Pepper, who always spoke loudly, could feel the shift in atmosphere, because when he replied, it was with the meekest of whispers.

“I-I said we should invite him for a drink?”

Bartolomeo struggled to comprehend the logic behind such a suggestion. Was Pepper making a joke? Was it the blind innocence of youth? Maybe the kid was just plain oblivious? 

Pepper absolutely could NOT be serious.

“Why,” Bartolomeo began calmly, “would I ever willingly invite that stuck up piece of sparkling trash to drink my beer and share my breathing air? What, out of all the forces working to kill me on this devil ocean, gave you such a fucked up idea?”

Pepper stared up at him with big, startled eyes.

“Um, I just thought since we are in an alliance with them maybe we could―”

“Ok let me stop you right there. We, as in the Barto Club, have humbly pledged ourselves to the great Luffy-senpai. We answer to him. When he needs help we go to help him. Cabbage pledged the same oath. If we ever meet under the banner of Luffy-senpai, so be it. At any other time, our crews are enemies. We aren’t allies and we definitely aren’t friends. I can’t stand that guy. You could offer me the One Piece and I still wouldn’t so much as shake that prick’s hand. So no, we are not going to invite them for a drink. Got it?”

“But can’t we just―”

“Pepper, enough!” Bartolomeo shouted.

Pepper flinched back from him, and for a moment, Bartolomeo remembered the small, dirty boy huddled in the corner of a slave shop. He immediately tried to apologize, but the younger boy cut him off.

“You are so selfish,” he whispered. “So what if you don’t like him, you didn’t even try to get to know him! You’ve talked to him, what, twice?”

Bartolomeo refrained from pointing out that twice was more than enough for him.

“I bet you don’t even know that most of this crew partied with his after the Strawhat Grand Fleet was formed. You were off obsessing over Luffy-senpai, and I get that. He’s your dream. But the rest of us got to know the rest of them. It was only for one night, but I had a really fun time. And I’m not the only one. So you may think you hate Cavendish, but that shouldn’t give you the right to stop our crews from getting along!”

Pepper had squared his shoulders and kept eye contact throughout his speech, a speech that clearly challenged the authority of his captain. Bartolomeo was kind of impressed. He liked Pep’s defiance and his bold words. And more importantly, Pepper made a good point.

Bartolomeo sighed. He had lost two battles this evening. Was he in a funk or something?

“Fine, fine. You can have your little party,” he relented.

“Really!?” Pepper’s serious expression turned to pure delight, and he jumped around happily. “Thanks, Boss!”

“Yeah, whatever. But let’s get one thing straight.” Bartolomeo created a barrier above Pepper so when he jumped again, he hit his head on the invisible surface. Pepper turned to him with a pout and Bartolomeo couldn’t help but grin. It lasted only a second. “You can have your party, but you need to be the one to invite them. And I am not obligated to join you. Just like I’m not forcing you to keep your distance from them, you can’t force me to get close.”

Bartolomeo reached out a hand.

“Deal?” he asked.

Pepper hesitated for a millisecond before slapping his hand against the offered one.

“Deal!” 

“Great now get back to your post, you brat!”

Pepper ducked his boss’ left hook and quickly scurried back up the mast, laughter filling the world with sound once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its only chapter one and I've already used a flower metaphor...  
> Comment and Kudos if you liked!  
> Bother me on tumblr: c-dragon-pirates.tumblr.com


	3. The Heaven Stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck at coming up with island names...

Cavendish stared at the map laid out before him. Cyra had ‘acquired’ it from the town cartographer’s shop, and with it, Cavendish could finally form a plan. He looked up at Cyra, who stood on the other side of his desk. 

“Tell me what you heard around town,” he prompted.

Cyra brought her hand to her chin as she gathered her thoughts. She always took time to think carefully before reporting or stating her opinion. As a result, she was uncannily efficient in organizing information and determining what was useful and what could be discarded.

“The common townspeople don't seem to know anything about it, and if they do, they’re very good at keeping quiet. I did some research in the library, but no concrete information had been recorded, either.”

Cavendish frowned. This may prove to be a hassle after all.

“However,” Cyra continued, “Kozu’s group saw numerous workers entering and exiting this mountain.” She pointed to the corresponding spot on the map. 

“Are they mining for something?”

“That's the thing, Captain, we don't think they were miners. They were armed and too attentive to anyone coming up the mountain. Kozu thought it was strange so he did some fishing. It turns out there are no official records of mining projects since a century ago.”

Cavendish looked at the map again, his bangs falling into his eyes as he leaned forward.

Twin Peak Island was fairly large, and had a tropical summer climate. The entire circumference of the island was covered in beaches, with the exception of the North Stretch. The North Stretch was a rainforest that surrounded twin mountains, which marked the northernmost point of the island. 

Any decent pirate would choose the mountain as the place to hide the treasure. Cavendish had sent Kozu to scout the area for any potential leads. It seems like he found one. 

“Cyra, I want you to tell Kozu to find out who those men are. I want to know if they're natives, what they’re doing on the mountain and who they work for.” Cavendish said, brushing his bangs aside. “Your mission is to continue to search for any leads about the treasure. Take your time, we can't afford to be reckless.”

“Yes, sir.”

Cyra left the room, closing the door softly. Cavendish sighed and collapsed into his chair. He was tired and it was so humid on this island that it was making his hair frizz. He wanted to find this treasure and he wanted to do it quickly.

The Heaven Stone. Shivers traveled down Cavendish’s spine at the very thought of it.

Rumor has it that an island once existed that was plagued by terrible storms. The storms were so merciless that many inhabitants of the island were killed daily. One day, a man, who had lost his mother and brother to the storm, picked up a pale blue stone from the ground. In grief and anger, he threw the stone at the sky, where the wind carried it to the center of the storm.

It is said that the intense heat and energy found in eye of the storm, merged with the stone, forging it anew.

The stone fell from the heavens, back to the man who had tossed it. The skies had miraculously been cleared. The man picked up the stone in wonder, for it's once pale surface had been transformed into that of a dark raging storm. From then on, whenever a storm hit the island, a person simply had to throw the stone to the sky to dispel it. The stone then fell back to the one who tossed it.

Of course, this power attracted attention and eventually someone stole the stone, causing the island to be consumed by storms and ultimately destroyed completely.

The end, Cavendish thought. 

The story of the Heaven Stone had become myth in present day. Still, there have been far too many whispers here and there to ignore the possibility that the stone, does in fact, exist. 

Cavendish really wanted it to exist.

A tool that could make storms disappear would be insanely useful in a place like the New World. Cavendish would be put at the forefront of the great pirate race if he could attain such power. 

Cavendish sighed. He was getting ahead of himself. 

It had been a long, fruitless day, but hopefully tomorrow would yield some results. For now, Cavendish resolved to get some sleep. He plucked a rose from the vase on his desk and placed a petal in his mouth before retiring to his bedroom.

\----------------------

The next day turned out to be just as hot and fruitless as the last. It was mid afternoon and Cavendish sat alone in his private quarters, moodily sipping a cup of tea. It was too warm for tea, but the comforting smell of mint helped to calm his frustrated mind.

The majority of his crew were on the island completing various chores or assignments. Cavendish had opted to stay on board the ship, as to keep a low profile, but he was unbelievably restless. He wanted to be doing something, instead of just sitting behind his desk, sweating. Perhaps he should go for a swim, or take Farul out for a run. Anything would be better than being alone with his thoughts. 

A knock on the door snapped him to attention.

“Enter,” he said

Cyra walked in, carrying a plate of cool cucumber slices. She placed them on Cavendish’s desk and pulled up a chair. He watched silently as she fell on to the chair, grabbed a slice of the cucumber, ate it, then took a second slice and rested it against her lips. She had braided her hair, presumably to try to keep cool, but her skin still shone with sweat. 

It must have been hard for her to be out in the heat all day. Cavendish felt guilt pull at his chest. Even if she was his most trusted and capable nakama, he should have called her back to the ship hours ago and sent someone else to continue her search.

“Stop that,” she said. Her gold eyes pierced into his and he knew she could see his feelings. She could always see.

“I should have sent someone to help you,” he began.

“Cavendish.”

He ducked his head to hide his smile. Cyra had been by his side the longest, but was adamant about using his title to address him. She only ever used his name when he was being stupid, stubborn or both.

“I know how to handle myself. Do you think I’m careless enough to get heatstroke? Do you think I skipped lunch just to complete my mission? You know I don't operate like that. Stop worrying.”

“Alright, I’m sorry. Seeing you in this state just reminded me of my own idleness.”

“We agreed you should keep a low profile.”

“I know. However, this room does not offer any distractions and I let my mind wander too much,” he whispered.

Cyra’s eyes softened. She knew better than anyone how desperately Cavendish needed distractions. She reached across the desk and he placed his hand in hers. She was about to say something but the door suddenly slammed open, destroying the fragile calm that had settled in the room.

“Hey-a Cap! Guess what I― whoops, am I interruptin’?”

“Your timing is as horrid as always, Kozu,” Cyra said without turning to look at him. She did, however, pull her hand away.

It was odd. Despite the heat, Cavendish’s hand felt very cold without her touch.

“Aww don’t be like that, Cy. I came all the way from the mountain to report. Show some gratitude,” Kozu whined.

The two predictably started to quibble. Cavendish sipped his tea, content to wait until they were finished, but his senses suddenly alerted him to the presence of another person. 

Cavendish looked past Kozu to find a boy, probably still a teenager, idling in his doorway. The boy must have felt the stare, because he shifted to look at Cavendish. He shuffled his feet nervously, cheeks beginning to flush from the awkward situation. Cavendish decided to take pity on him.

“Kozu, who is the young man you brought with you?” he asked.

Cyra and Kozu paused mid argument and turned to look at the boy. Kozu, seeming to remember that he did, in fact, bring the boy with him, proceeded to wrap an arm around the kid’s shoulders and usher him into the room.

“Oh this guy? I found him loitering ‘round the ship. Thought he might be a spy or something, but he said he knew you. Said he had a message from the Barto Club.”

Cavendish almost choked on his tea. 

Kozu was oblivious to the shift in atmosphere at the mention of the Barto Club. Even the boy seemed to be aware of it, because his eyes shifted around the room, either to avoid Cavendish’s stare or to identify possible emergency exits.

Despite how insensitive Kozu was to the situation, Cavendish knew that he never would have let the boy on board if he had any malicious intent. Kozu’s idiotic expressions were just for show. Most of the time.

“Go on, kid. Tell him your message.” Kozu prompted, slapping the boy on the back.

“What is your name?” Cavendish asked politely. The boy may be from his crew, but that was no reason to be discourteous. Cavendish was a lot of things, but never would he be accused of being a poor host.

“M-my name is Pepper,” he chirped.

Cavendish took one look at the boy’s freckled skin and brown-blonde streaked hair and smiled at how fitting the name was.

“Well, Pepper, Kozu says you have a message for me. Is this true?”

Pepper nodded.

“Very well. Before you deliver it, would you care for some refreshments?” Cavendish offered.

“That’s very kind of you, sir. Thank you, sir,” Pepper said quickly. He was putting in an effort to sound polite in return.

“Please call me Cavendish.”

“Thank you Cavendish, sir.”

Cavendish laughed softly and signalled to Cyra to bring some water. By the time everyone had a glass of iced lemon water, Pepper had become more relaxed.

“Alright, what message have you brought me?” Cavendish asked.

“I’m here to invite you to have a drinking party with us, um, the Barto Club Pirates, tonight at our ship.”

Pepper busied himself with drinking as Cavendish absorbed the information.

“A drinking party...at your ship?” Cavendish repeated slowly.

“Yes, Cavendish, sir.” Pepper pulled a wrinkled piece of paper from his pocket and laid it on the table. “That is our docking location. We’ll be expecting you at sundown. I-if you decide to come. You, don’t have to, I think it’ll be fun though. Just like the Dressrosa party.”

Cavendish stared at the paper on his desk as if it might jump at him at any second.

“Woohoo! A party! Hey Cap, can we go? Oh man I haven’t cut loose in weeks!” Kozu was rambling with the excitement of a child, but Cavendish was less than enthusiastic.

“Why did your captain not come to invite us himself? How arrogant of him to send a messenger boy for an event such as this, as if we are not worthy of his presence unless it's on his terms.” Cavendish’s voice turned bitingly cold. “I have my pride.”

Pepper was speechless and Kozu was crestfallen.

“C’mon Cap, it’ll be fun. I have some great drinking buds over there,” Kozu pressed.

“Yes!” Pepper interjected, following Kozu’s lead, “Boss was just too busy to come in person, but he really wanted to invite you all, so he sent me. I’m not as cool as the Boss, but he trusted me with this assignment. If I fail him, he will be so disappointed!”

Somehow, Cavendish had the feeling that Pepper was lying through his teeth. There was no way that Bartolomeo wanted Cavendish for company. It was unfathomable that he would share his booze, let alone his air with Cavendish, especially without an attached price. 

Pepper must have seen the doubt on Cavendish’s face, because he looked to Kozu and Cyra for support. Cyra cleared her throat.

“Captain, perhaps this could prove to be a useful opportunity,” she ventured.

Cavendish gave her the most unimpressed, disbelieving stare he could possibly muster. 

“Our current relationship with the Barto Club Pirates is strained at best. However, both our crew and his have agreed to be part of the Strawhat Grand Fleet. You may be content to avoid each other until Strawhat Luffy calls upon you, but I think that is childish and inefficient.”

“Bartolomeo is an ass, Cyra. I’ve tried working with him but he is insufferable and crude. He has never shown an ounce of civility towards me!” he argued.

“Until now.”

Goddamit, she got him. 

Cavendish sipped at his tea to stall as he tried to gather his thoughts. Did he want to play nice with Bartolomeo? Hell no. Did he need to play nice with Bartolomeo? Ideally, yes. If they could develop at least a functional relationship, it could positively affect their future roles in the Fleet.

Fine, he would accept. Admittedly, he wasn’t doing it entirely for his crew, or for the Fleet. A small, petty part of him just couldn’t bear the thought that rejecting the invitation would be a clear surrender to the challenge that Bartolomeo so bluntly issued.

Cavendish would sooner wish for wrinkles than lose to that bastard.

“Very well, I accept your invitation.” he said.

Pepper and Kozu smiled in unison and Kozu dragged the boy around the room in a sloppy victory dance. Across the room, Cyra hid a smile behind a fake cough.

“Kozu, you can attempt to dance later at the party. Do you think you can actually do what you came here for and report?” Cavendish asked drily.

“Aye, aye, Captain!” Kozu saluted.

“Pepper, thank you for your message. We will see you tonight. Cyra, please escort him back to his ship.”

She nodded. Pepper waved his thanks as the pair left the room, chatting happily with one another. 

Cavendish sighed and rubbed his temples. No doubt he would have a headache by the end of tonight. He thought about Bartolomeo and how he would have to soon spend hours with him.

On second thought, a headache was the least of his worries. If they didn’t end up murdering each other, Cavendish would be thoroughly impressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Come bother me on tumblr: c-dragon-pirates.tumblr.com


	4. Tentative Truce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank everyone who's commented so far! Your enthusiasm really keeps me going :)

Night fell quickly, and before he knew it, Cavendish found himself leading his crew down the beach, nothing but the moonlight and a crumpled sheet of paper to guide his way. He had decided to ride Farul, who had been cooped up on the ship for weeks, and the muted sound of his hooves set a steady rhythm for the procession of pirates. From where he sat, Cavendish could see the faces of his companions. They had all looked worn out when they had returned to the ship earlier, but the news of the party did wonders to lift their spirits. Almost everyone had decided to come, only those who had first watch remained behind.

 

Cavendish lifted his chin, determined to be on his best behaviour for the sake of his nakama’s smiles. 

 

The group reached a tall sand dune that was high enough to hide what was on the other side. It was the last marker on Pepper’s map. Cavendish took a steadying breath which did little to release the tension in his body. Still, he urged Farul onward; there was no use delaying the inevitable.

 

From the top of the dune, the Beautiful Pirates could see a large camp set up near the ocean. There were multiple fires, some of which were being used to roast meat, and huge barrels of ale and rum were scattered between seats of log and stone.

 

Many of Bartolomeo’s crew were already present. They were rowdy; the sounds of shouting, laughter and music blended together in an effort to bring life to the moonlit beach. It wasn't long before someone spotted Cavendish’s group. When they did, some men broke apart from the camp to come meet their guests halfway. 

 

Cavendish noticed his own crewmembers become fidgety, and he gestured for them to go on ahead. The glee with which his nakama ran down the hill made him grin. 

 

Farul scraped the sand impatiently. 

 

“Alright, stop nagging. You're worse than them.” Cavendish said.

 

Farul snorted in annoyance.

 

As they approached the camp, Cavendish could make out some familiar faces. Kozu was already arm in arm with a tall man, attempting to sing in time to the notes of a banjo. Pepper ran in front of him, carrying a tray of cut meat. He shouted a quick ‘hello’ before disappearing again. Cavendish recognized a few others here and there, who had drank with his crew on Dressrosa. 

 

There was one face, though, that wasn't present among the crowd. 

 

Cavendish had expected to be greeted by the sneering face of Bartolomeo as soon as he arrived, but no matter where the blonde looked, he couldn't find the other captain anywhere. It kind of pissed him off.

 

How dare Bartolomeo not show his face after making Cavendish trek up the beach? Cavendish was content to avoid the other man. After all, the party had been  _ Bartolomeo’s _ idea. This supposed peace offering had been extended by him. It was all his doing. 

 

So where the hell was he!?

 

Cavendish angrily dismounted Farul, cape whipping in the air from his momentum. He had not wanted to come here. He had been dreading the company of Bartolomeo since the invitation first arrived. Hence, his anger was illogical. Cavendish should be relieved that he didn't have to put up with that man.

 

So why did he feel a sting of disappointment? Why did he feel betrayed?

 

Was it possible that Cavendish had subconsciously been eager to meet with Bartolomeo? Did he actually  _ want  _ to fix their stormy relationship? After all, Cavendish did have some level of respect for the rude idiot. Said respect was just overshadowed by Bartolomeo’s ability to thoroughly annoy him whenever they were in the same vicinity. 

 

Cavendish clenched his fists. Bartolomeo had probably planned this from the start. He wanted to humiliate Cavendish. The bastard was most likely relaxing in the quiet of his room with a glass of his best rum, laughing to himself as he thought of how Cavendish had been naive enough to believe there was a possibility to become  _ friends. _

 

Well, fine. Cavendish won't be making that mistake twice. 

 

He looked around sharply. Locating the closest barrel of rum, he briskly walked over and asked the nearby men for a glass. They gladly supplied him with one.

 

Cavendish filled up and proceeded to glide into the thickest part of the crowd. He walked with grace and pride, turning heads as he went. He was Whitehorse Cavendish, most beautiful man in the world. He would not be bruised by Bartolomeo’s insults against him. 

 

He'd win the hearts of all of the Barto Club members, so that they'd talk about him out at sea, and his name would haunt Bartolomeo wherever he went. Cavendish would show Bartolomeo just what he was missing.

 

And he'd drink all of Bartolomeo’s damn booze while he was at it.

 

\-----------------

 

Bartolomeo stood on the deck of the Going Luffy-senpai, gazing out to shore. He watched as his men welcomed the Prettier-Than-You Pirates, slapping them on their backs and ushering them to the drinks and food. Hell, it was like the two crews had an age old friendship! 

 

Bartolomeo spit into the sea. Damn Cabbage. 

 

When Pepper had relayed the news that Cavendish had accepted his invitation, Bartolomeo hardly believed it. He had expected the blonde to outright refuse because of their inability to get along. 

 

What was he trying to do by showing up? Bartolomeo had no clue what kind of game he was playing. But there was no way Cavendish would make a fool of him.

 

He called to one of his men on guard to ready a rowboat. Bartolomeo had some questions for Cavendish, and he wanted answers  _ now. _

 

It took ten minutes to travel to shore and ten more to find Cavendish among the crowd. When Bartolomeo did find him, he rolled his eyes at the scene in front of him.

 

At least a dozen of his crew were seated in a circle, gazes fixed at its center where Cavendish sat, looking like some holy deity. His back was straight, his legs crossed and he sipped at his rum like it was a brew of his four o’clock tea. The nearby fire danced across his face, turning his blonde hair to shades of liquid sunset. 

 

Worst of all was how Cavendish looked at those gathered around him. Bartolomeo’s men were taking turns telling stories of random adventures, and Cavendish looked at each speaker as if they were the most interesting person in the world.

 

There was no disgust in Cavendish’s gaze, no slight crinkle of his nose or upturned chin. It was nothing like how he looked at Bartolomeo. 

 

Why didn't Bartolomeo get that treatment?

 

‘ _ Cuz you've only ever been  an ass to him. _

 

So what? Bartolomeo was an ass to everyone. It's not like Cavendish was special.

 

Bright laughter rang out. Bartolomeo had no fucking clue that it was possible for a laugh to sound like blooming flowers, but somehow Cavendish fucking managed it. The effect it had on the group was ridiculous. All his men, his battle hardened, foul-mouthed, take-shit-from-no-one men, became starry eyed and entranced by the sound. 

 

Bartolomeo stepped forward. He needed to get closer to-

 

To do what? Why did he step forward? Bartolomeo’s heart began to race, panic at his lack of control making his blood race. 

 

_ Fuckhellshitfuck. _

 

Bartolomeo had underestimated just how dangerous Cavendish was, and he was glad that the man only ever glared at him. If Cavendish, for some unlikely reason, ever smiled at him, Bartolomeo would probably lose himself entirely.

 

“There you are, Boss!”

 

Someone from the circle had seen him and in a matter of seconds all eyes were on him, including a pair of ice blue ones.

 

“Where ‘ave you been?” asked a different voice. This brought on a barrage of questions about his absence.

 

“Oi, shut your traps! Unlike you lazy lot, I had work to do!” he lied. “And why are you roaches pestering him like a bunch o’ brats? Go get shitfaced like usual.”

 

Bartolomeo made a shooing motion in an attempt to disperse the crowd around Cavendish.

 

“Aww c’mon, Boss! We weren't botherin’ him! Right, Captain?”

 

“I found your company quite enjoyable, actually,” said Cavendish cooly. “However, I believe your Captain has business with me, so I must implore you gentlemen to allow us some privacy. Forgive my selfishness.”

 

Bartolomeo groaned as his men jumped to obey Cavendish, assuring him that it was no trouble at all. 

 

Someone slapped Bartolomeo on the back, a quick ‘good luck’ whispered for encouragement. 

 

“Piss off!” Bartolomeo said, though not without affection. “And for fuck’s sake, someone get me some alcohol!”

 

A bottle came hurling towards him and he snatched it out of the air before it hit his face. He flipped the bird in the direction it came from and heard a bark of laughter in response.

 

Bartolomeo popped the cork from the bottle and chugged a good portion of the burning liquid. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then sat on the log beside  _ him. _

 

They were silent, neither man willing to look at the other, let alone make the first move. 

 

Bartolomeo had been so fixed on getting answers from Cavendish, but now that the moment arrived, he didn't know where to start. He glanced at Cavendish through the corner of his eye. The blonde was facing forward, calmly sipping his drink in that obnoxiously refined way. It was clear that he would not speak first. Well, Bartolomeo had been the one to approach him. 

 

Fine, he'd go first. 

 

“I'd say it's good to see you, Cabbage, but it's really not.” 

 

Cavendish sighed.

 

“How does your crew put up with you?” he deadpanned.

 

“Must be my good looks. That's the reason you have any friends, isn't it?”

 

“You are such an  _ ass.” _

 

_ “ _ But you already knew that. So how ‘bout we cut the small talk and get this over with, ya?”

 

Cavendish finally looked at him, eyes filled with loathing.

 

“I don't understand you.” Cavendish snapped. “If having a conversation with me is such a bloody chore, why call me here at all? What are you trying to  _ prove? _ ”

 

Bartolomeo stared at Cavendish in confusion. 

 

“This wasn't my idea! Pepper was the one who wanted to throw a party! Did you really think I came up with this?” Bartolomeo asked incredulously.

 

Cavendish tilted his head so that the rim of his hat hid his eyes.

 

“No, I didn't. It would have been foolish of me to think you had,” he whispered. “I should have never agreed to this. It would have saved us both the trouble.”

 

Bartolomeo almost cringed at how bitter the man sounded. But something in the blonde's words didn't add up, so Bartolomeo dared to press on.

 

“Why did you then?” he asked.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“If you knew that I wasn't the one to actually invite you, why did you still come?”

 

Cavendish was silent for a long moment. Bartolomeo took the opportunity to drink.

 

“I did it for them.” Cavendish gestured vaguely to the merry crowd. “One of my men, Kozu, said he had some acquaintances in your crew. He begged me, along with your boy, Pepper, to accept your invitation.”

 

Bartolomeo’s eyes widened as Cavendish continued, voice growing soft.

 

“I hated the idea of seeing you. I tried to refuse. But despite what you think, I'm not self-centered enough to ignore the wishes of my crew. Devil knows how rare it is to find happy moments on these seas. Who am I to deny them one?”

 

Cavendish startled when Bartolomeo erupted with laughter. He couldn't help his outburst, it was just too ironic. 

 

Cavendish must have thought the laughter was directed at him, because he immediately flushed with embarrassment and began to stand.

 

“No, haha, wait-” Bartolomeo tried to speak through his laughter, “seriously, ha, just hold on!”

 

Cavendish hesitated and Bartolomeo took the chance to grab his sleeve and pull him down. Cavendish stumbled into a seating position, shooting Bartolomeo a venomous glare.

 

“I wasn't laughing at you.” Bartolomeo explained. “I was laughing at this situation.”

 

That pacified Cavendish a little, so Bartolomeo continued.

 

“I would never have come up with this idea, right? I didn't want to see your skinny ass either.”

 

“I am  _ not  _ ski-”

 

“This whole thing was Pepper’s idea.”

 

“Pepper?”

 

“Yup. The kid was lecturing me about ‘my selfish feelings’ and how I ‘shouldn't prevent the crew from havin’ fun just cuz I can't stand you,’” Bartolomeo made air quotes to identify Pepper’s words. “So I laughed because we both basically agreed to this for their sakes, not ours.”

 

Bartolomeo watched as Cavendish’s pink lips stretched into the beginnings of a smile, but the blonde turned his head before it was fully formed. 

 

“Well, if they're happy, I don't mind having to share a drink with you.” Cavendish didn't look at Bartolomeo as he spoke, but the sincerity in his voice was clear enough. 

 

“I guess I can get on board with that. So long as you don't talk.”

 

Cavendish snorted, but held out his glass, a tentative peace offering.

 

Bartolomeo grinned and cracked his bottle against it, taking a healthy gulp of its contents afterward. He saw Cavendish do the same.

  
True to their agreement, the pair sat in silence. They watched their crews dance and drink, a smile lighting up each face. Bartolomeo thought that maybe the night wouldn't be so shitty after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are going to get tense next chapter, so stick around *laughs evilly*   
> Tumblr: c-dragon-pirates.tumblr.com


	5. Broken Truce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter consists of Bartolomeo being an ass and making bad decisions. Enjoy~

Cavendish added another log to the dwindling fire. The small flames burst up around it, creating glowing cracks in the grain of the wood. The blonde lifted his mug to drink the last of his beer. Somewhere down the beach he could hear lively music. As the night had continued, the party had shifted past the initial campsite to the treeline of the forest.

 

Bartolomeo had been dragged off at some point, the other pirates all wanting a moment with him. Loath though he was to admit it, even Cavendish could see that Bartolomeo was loved by his men. Regardless, Bartolomeo and the others had left, leaving the blonde to sit amongst the abandoned fires, the odd pirate passed out between them.

 

At least it was a nice night. The heat during the day was brutal, but now it was just pleasantly warm. The sky was clear as well, making  the dusting of stars that stretched across the black visible. Cavendish used to love nights like these. 

 

Something shoved at his back. Farul poked his nose over Cavendish’s shoulder, determined to get the blonde's attention. Cavendish smiled softly and reached a hand up to pet his friend's cheek, feeling the soft pelt beneath his fingertips. 

 

The rhythmic motion of his hand combined with Farul’s breathing created a sense of peace within him. After a few more moments of watching the fire, Cavendish began to feel drowsy. He rested his head against Farul’s neck, but he couldn't sleep out in the open like this. Farul knew it too, and he occasionally nibbled at Cavendish’s hair to make sure the man stayed awake.

 

Cavendish was tired. He hadn't slept well the last few days, which wasn't anything new, really. He barely ever slept while docked at an island. Still, Cavendish decided it was time to return to his ship.

 

Kozu’s report from that afternoon had stated that the men on the mountain were most likely pirates. Cavendish had hoped to have no competitors, yet there they were. Tomorrow he'd have to search for their base and politely ask them to fuck off. It was probably going to be a long day.

 

“Come on, Farul,” Cavendish pulled gently on his companion’s reins, “let's get you some water then head home.” 

 

The pair walked down the beach towards the relocated party. The number of conscious people had dwindled, and it was easy to find recognizable faces. Cavendish wasn't surprised to see Kozu still awake; that man could probably outdrink Roronoa Zoro. Cavendish  _ was _ surprised to see Pepper, who was talking to Kozu excitedly. He noticed Cavendish and paused to wave to him. Cavendish nodded in return, before continuing to search the area.

 

Finally, he found what he was looking for. A little further away sat five large barrels, and Cavendish hoped at least one contained water. He led Farul to them, and bent to smell each barrel’s contents. The first three smelled of liquor, but the fourth was fortunately odorless. Cavendish drank a bit to be sure that it was, in fact, water. 

 

He was just about to let Farul have a drink when a hand grabbed his shoulder roughly.

 

“What do you think you’re doin’?” Bartolomeo demanded. Cavendish shook off the man’s hand, confused as to why he was being interrupted.

 

“I’m giving Farul a drink before we head back to my ship,” Cavendish said simply.

 

Bartolomeo glared at Farul as if the horse had personally offended his mother. 

 

“Like hell you are,” he sneered. “If your pet wants water, he can get it from the river like all the other animals.”

 

Cavendish’s jaw dropped. He was absolutely stunned to the point that he couldn’t even process an appropriate response to what the other man had just said.

 

“Excuse me?” he managed.

 

“I said, he can’t have any of my water.”

 

Cavendish tried to stay calm. Bartolomeo was an ass but this was just ridiculous. There must be a reason for his words. Perhaps he was concerned about Farul contaminating the water? Yes, that was plausible.

 

“If this is about Farul dirtying your water, I assure you he will not. He drinks from my water supply all the time.” Cavendish was proud at how civil he sounded. He was absolutely, completely in control of his emotions.

 

“Maybe you didn’t hear me, Blondie. That thing is an animal, so he’ll drink from the river like an animal. I ain't sharing my water with your useless pony.”

 

So much for control.

 

“How DARE you?” Cavendish snapped, hand flying to his sword. Farul was his nakama and he wouldn’t let anyone insult him, let alone some green-haired, dim-witted, uncouth and downright  _ despicable  _ pirate.

 

“Whoa, easy. I didn’t mean to offend your donkey’s delicate feelings.” Bartolomeo pretended to be taken aback. “But you see, this water is for my men who actually work and aren’t just a prop to make me look cooler. I’m sure your pampered little pet can walk to the river for once, instead of being handed his water in a silver cup like usual.”

 

Cavendish drew his sword and lunged, quick as bolt of lightning. The movement offered no satisfaction because his blade met a clear wall instead of warm flesh. From the other side of his barrier, Bartolomeo yawned brazenly. Cavendish cursed Bartolomeo’s ability with every atom in his body.

 

“Now, now, Cabbage, if we fight, poor old Fool won’t get his water. Put the animal out of his misery.”

 

By now, many of the other pirates had become aware of the brewing fight. Peopl from both sides began to draw their weapons. Cavendish ignored them. His anger grew with each passing second and in the depths of his mind, he felt a dark presence stir. It scratched at its cage, whispered promises of bloody revenge if Cavendish set him free. And Cavendish  _ wanted  _ to free him. He wanted to see Bartolomeo on his knees, to hear him beg forgiveness, to see blood pour from his body―

 

A hoof connected with his side hard enough to bruise and he stumbled to the side. Cavendish clutched his side as pain bloomed over his ribs. It wasn't bad enough to incapacitate him, but it was enough to bring him back from his dangerous thoughts. 

 

Cavendish had almost lost it.

 

He let out a shaky breath and looked up into Farul’s concerned eyes. Bartolomeo began to laugh. He mocked Cavendish, saying things like how troublesome his horse was or how he misjudged Farul.

 

“It’s about time someone kicked you! I take it all back! Your animal is a riot!” he cackled.

 

“The only animal here is you.” Cavendish spoke the words evenly, but his voice was void of any emotion. It was blank, the statement so purely spoken that Bartolomeo startled. 

 

Without another word, Cavendish placed a hand on Farul’s neck and led him to the forest edge. He paused to signal to Kozu, who had drawn his dagger, that the situation was resolved. Then, Cavendish stepped into the rainforest, the thick foliage shielding him from the burning gazes on his back. 

 

Towering trees blotted out the moon and darkness swallowed his world. Cavendish was glad it was dark; if he couldn't see his hands, he could convince himself they weren't actually shaking.

 

Cavendish tried not to think about his lack of control. Ever since Dressrosa, it had become increasingly difficult to repress his unpleasant counterpart. The smallest inconveniences triggered Hakuba in ways they hadn't before. Cavendish had managed to keep control because he had kept his cool. However, anger was especially lethal to such control. 

 

It terrified him. Everyday he was constantly trying to maintain control. Everyday he had to dedicate half of is energy to make sure he didn’t lose his grip. He was like a live bomb waiting to explode.

 

And Bartolomeo was the idiot that cut the wrong wire.

 

Cavendish could handle the ‘pretty boy’ insults; he could handle the belittlement and the comments about his popularity. But Bartolomeo had no business insulting Farul. Cavendish wouldn't forgive him.

 

He couldn't wait to find the Heaven Stone so he could put an ocean's worth of distance between Bartolomeo and himself.

 

Being around Bartolomeo was stressful at best and catastrophic at second best. Cavendish did  _ not _ want to find out what would happen if they seriously pissed each other off. 

 

No matter what the future brought, Cavendish was going to avoid Bartolomeo for the rest of his life. His body and mind depended on it.

 

Farul nosed at his injured side. Cavendish winced at the sting, but patted Farul anyway. Cavendish could barely see the white of Farul’s face, but he whispered his thanks, knowing that the horse could at least hear him.

 

“You really saved me back there.” Cavendish looked around. “Speaking of which, where are we?”

 

Farul snorted his bewilderment.

 

“Oh this is just perfect.”

 

Now that Cavendish was paying attention, he noticed the details of his surroundings. The first thing to hit his senses was the noise. Even at night the jungle was loud with the calling of birds and the clipping of insects. Each step Cavendish took made an unflattering squelching sound as his boots, his  _ custom _ boots, sunk centimeters deep into the muddy ground. 

 

“How unpleasant,” he remarked.

 

His mind twitched, causing him to tense up. It wasn't the kind of pull that meant Hakuba was active. This was his primal instinct telling him he was being watched. 

 

Had his nakama come to find him? He traced an ‘x’ on Farul’s neck, cautioning him to be quiet and still. Cavendish used his Haki to sensed outward, trying to determine who their visitors were.

 

A branch snapped. The startled shriek of birds pierced the night. 

 

_ From the left! _

 

Cavendish raised his sword just as a man jumped from the bushes. The ring of steel melded with the bird calls. Cavendish had blocked just in time, but was still forced back, heels sinking deeper into the mud. He couldn't see very well, which wouldn't hinder his fighting ability, Cavendish was accustomed to fighting in the dark. Unfortunately, the darkness did prevented him from identifying his attacker.

 

“I am Cavendish of the Whitehorse. Who, may I ask, are you?”

 

The man didn't grace Cavendish with an answer. Instead, he jumped back to group up with three more figures.

 

“Whitehorse? So it's you that's been snooping around. Well your search ends here. We, the Blackrope Pirates, will be the ones to find the Heaven Stone.” 

 

Cavendish couldn't tell who had spoken, though he supposed it didn't really matter. 

 

“Regrettably, I have no intention of letting you get your filthy hands on the stone. Do me a favour and fuck off, would you?” Cavendish said sweetly.

 

The group roared and charged as a unit. Cavendish blocked each attack successfully, but he had no room to form his own offense. This could be tedious.

 

“Farul, go! You know what to do!” Cavendish yelled.

 

Farul neighed and charged the nearest assailant, headbutting him into a tree. A moment later the horse vanished into the overgrowth, the sound of thumping of hooves getting fainter.

 

Cavendish grinned. This was just the distraction he needed to let off some steam. He stood, poised and ready. His white cape swayed around him, a pure and beacon amongst the mud.

 

“Now then,” Cavendish held Durandal out challengingly, “who's first?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaa so it isn't stated in canon if Cav can actually use haki, but all things considered, I think he'd have observation haki at least. So I gave it to him *shrugs* Also, I'm going to release some charcter sheets with next week's chapter, considering half the main characters are my own creations. So look forward to that ;)
> 
> tumblr: c-dragon-pirates.tumblr.com


	6. It's Your Fault

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, you can check out some official character art on my tumblr http://c-dragon-pirates.tumblr.com/post/146810456406/my-characters-cyra-and-pepper-theyre-from-my  
> Let me know what you think!!

“What do you mean they had a fight?” Cyra snapped.

“Don't yell like it's my fault!” Kozu said defensively.

“It's your fault that he went into the jungle, alone, in the middle of the night!”

Cyra took a deep breath and tried to calm down. She had been gone  _ ten minutes  _ and everything went to shit. She thought that Cavendish and Bartolomeo were playing nice, she wouldn't have left otherwise. Boy was she wrong. She came back to find Cavendish missing, a thoroughly pissed off Bartolomeo, a frantic Pepper, and a guilty-looking, mildly intoxicated Kozu.

“He's not alone, Farul is with him!” Kozu argued.

At that moment the sound of thundering hooves filled the beach. Farul launched himself from the rainforest, startling the few pirates that were still awake. He was anxious, his proud head tossing from side to side, front legs pawing at the ground urgently. 

Worst of all, Farul was alone.

Cyra sent Kozu a scathing glare. “You were saying?” 

Without waiting for an answer, she ran to Farul, grabbing his reins to try to calm him down. The appearance of the white horse drew the attention of everyone on the beach, and soon a small circle of people had gathered.

“Shhh, Farul. Calm down,” Cyra tried to soothe the panting horse.

“What's all this noise about?”

Cyra snapped her head around to see Bartolomeo standing at the forefront of the group. His hands were in his pockets, his body relaxed; the picture of nonchalance. Cyra wanted to break his nose. She hid her feelings though, as there were more pressing matters to attend to at the moment.

“Farul just returned without Cavendish, and judging by his anxious state, something must have happened,” she said curtly.

“That’s it? I thought it was something important.”

Cyra had to bite her tongue to stop herself from screaming. As much as she wanted to give Bartolomeo a piece of her mind, she couldn’t afford to waste time. She trusted Cavendish to get through a difficult situation, but she needed to find him regardless. 

“Farul, tell us what happened.” Cyra bent to rub the sand in front of Farul, smoothing it until it became relatively flat.

“Whaddya mean ‘tell us’? He’s just a dumb horse!” Bartolomeo mocked. 

Cyra ignored him, focusing instead on the patterns Farul was drawing with his hoof. He drew two symbols; the first was a circle with an ‘x’ directly below it. The skull and crossbones, it was the symbol for pirates. She glanced at Kozu, who had knelt down beside her. Could Cavendish have found where the rival pirate crew was hiding? Kozu nodded ever so slightly, indicating that he had come to the same conclusion.

Bartolomeo mumbled something about ‘useless drawings’ and ‘waste of time,’ but no one paid him any attention.

The next symbol was one neither of them knew, but it was easy enough to decipher. Farul had drawn another circle, but in the center of it was a lightning bolt. It was the Heaven Stone.

“Kozu, wake everyone up. Anyone sober enough to fight is to prepare for battle. Send someone back to the ship to report.” She delivered her orders quickly, mounting Farul as she spoke.

“Yes ma'am.” The lighthearted atmosphere around Kozu had vanished, replaced by solemn concentration. 

As Kozu went about kicking people awake, Cyra busied herself with formulating a plan. First, they’d have to use Farul to backtrack to the location where Cavendish had run into the pirates. Though Farul had informed them of the enemy, he could not talk (as Bartolomeo had so kindly reminded them), and as a result, information about the situation was lacking. Cyra didn’t know her role. Was she supposed to lead a rescue mission? Was Cavendish simply in need of backup? Had he already handled everything himself and was heading back to the beach, the Stone in his possession?

She didn’t know and it was exceedingly frustrating. 

“How long until dawn?” she asked, addressing the group of Bartolomeo’s pirates that still stood uncertainly nearby. 

“About two hours,” someone said.

Cyra sighed. It would be difficult to track anything in the dark, especially if the enemy was being careful to cover their asses. She knew that they were at least skilled enough to have remained hidden from the locals, because no one seemed to know of them about the pirates before Kozu had spotted them. 

“Miss Cyra!” 

Cyra glanced down to where Pepper stood. Farul’s ears twitched towards the boy curiously.

“You’re forming a search party to find Captain Cavendish, right?” Pepper looked up at her with wide, determined eyes. “Please, let me come with you!”

Cyra practically felt Bartolomeo scowl. 

“That is not my decision to make. You’ll have to ask your Captain,” she said crisply. In all honesty, Cyra wasn’t sure if she actually wanted to bring Pepper along. Technically, this wasn’t Pepper’s problem, and she didn’t want him getting hurt.

Pepper turned to Bartolomeo pleadingly, but the green-haired man just crossed his arms.

“Why do you need to go? This ain’t got nothing to do with us. It’s that diva’s fault for gettin’ into trouble.”

Though Cyra had just thought the same thing, Bartolomeo made it sound disgustingly apathetic. She was beginning to see why Cavendish had been so reluctant to agree to come tonight. Bartolomeo was everything Cavendish had said he was, and Cyra should have trusted her captain’s judgement sooner.

“Why?” Pepper was shaking, out of fear or anger, Cyra didn’t know. He was so small compared to Bartolomeo. “It’s your fault that he went into the jungle! If you had just given him water, none of this would have happened!”

Cyra tensed. Pepper wasn’t necessarily wrong, but confronting his captain was risky. Bartolomeo wasn’t level-headed to begin with, and having someone on his own crew call him out on his actions was likely to make him explode. Cyra’s hand inched towards her boot where she kept some of her knives. If Bartolomeo tried to hurt Pepper, she wouldn’t just sit still and watch.

Bartolomeo took a menacing step forward. Cyra’s observation Haki was not as adept as her Captain’s, but even she could sense the raging aura coming from him. It was a wild, untamable mess, and she was not at all surprised to see Pepper flinch away.

“This is my fault? I don’t think so, Pep. If we’re going to play the blame game, why don’t you think back to who had the brilliant idea to have this little meet up. I warned you about us, but you were so convinced that we could be  _ nice. _ ” Bartolomeo towered over Pepper, and Cyra was reminded of a wolf pup being put in its place by the Alpha.

“Well you were wrong about us, about  _ me. _ ” Bartolomeo’s voice wavered almost imperceptibly, and Cyra might have imagined the guilt that flashed in his eyes. “End of discussion.”

Bartolomeo stepped away from Pepper, who would no longer look his Captain in the eyes. Without a word to anyone, he began to make his way towards the ship. 

“I’m going.”

Everyone within earshot, Barto and Whitehorse pirates alike, looked at Pepper in shock. Bartolomeo had paused mid-step, as if frozen by the boy’s words.

“Maybe I was wrong about you! Maybe I don’t know who you are at all,” Pepper shouted, eyes brimming with tears, “but I know who I am. And I am not going to abandon the man who treated me, a bratty kid, with respect. I won’t abandon the man who agreed to my wishes when he knew that it meant dealing with you.”

Pepper sniffed loudly. No one spoke, because no one knew what to say. It was Kozu who eventually broke the silence.

“Cyra, we are ready to leave.” Kozu spoke softly, but it felt like everyone heard.

Cyra looked at her nakama that had formed loose ranks behind Kozu. They were alert, despite being recently roused from sleep. They weren’t as heavily armed as Cyra would have liked, having only brought light weapons to the party. They’d have to make do.

“Alright, prepare to move out,” she said.

“What about the kid?” Kozu whispered.

Cyra looked at Pepper, who had gone to the back of the group, eyes lit with resolve. 

Cyra shrugged helplessly, “He’s made his choice.”

Without wasting another minute, she flicked Farul’s reins, giving him the signal to move forward. She let him lead, trusting that he knew the way to go. 

_ We are on our way, Captain. _

 

\---------------

 

“Are you just going to let him go?”

Bartolomeo barely registered the words through the storm of his mind.

Fuck Cavendish. Fuck Cavendish and his horse and his attitude and his everything! So what if Bartolomeo had sent him into the jungle? It wasn’t his fault that Cavendish got mugged by some random pirates. 

And Pepper. Where did that brat get the authority to question everything he said? Bartolomeo was the Captain for fuck’s sake! So what if Pep was sort of right? Maybe Bartolomeo  _ was  _ partially, minutely, infinitesimally responsible for the situation. This wasn’t the first time Bartolomeo said something that caused someone else to get hurt. Hell, it happened all the damn time! Pepper never said anything before. Why did the kid change his tune all of a sudden? 

The image of large, tearful eyes flashed in his mind’s eye.

“AAGGGGHHH! THIS IS BULLSHIT!” Bartolomeo pulled at his hair angrily.

“Boss?”

Bartolomeo spun around to see Gambia, who was looking at him with an expression that only someone accustomed to such outbursts could wear.

“What?” Bartolomeo snapped.

“Just wanted to know if it's okay to let Pep go like that…” 

Bartolomeo let out a sigh; a long, overdramatic sigh. Gambia watched him, expression bordering between ‘done with this shit’ and ‘stay strong, think of the child’.

Bartolomeo’s thoughts traveled back to Pepper. Pepper, who had once looked at him like he was a hero, who had worked hard from day one to prove himself to Bartolomeo, who had stood up to him multiple times to speak his mind. Bartolomeo sniffed.

Shit, he was such an  _ idiot. _

Pepper didn’t deserve what Bartolomeo had said to him. Fuck, why had he said that shit, why had he put blame on that kid?! Pep didn’t deserve any of that. He did nothing wrong!

And neither did Cavendish.

Or more specifically, Cavendish’s horse.

“Roger’s balls, I’m such a fucking idiot!”

“That much is obvious, Boss, but that doesn’t answer my question,” Gambia stated dryly.

Bartolomeo grabbed Gambia’s shoulders and shook him roughly. “I fucked up!”

“I feel like my previous statement still applies. I  _ am  _ surprised you’ve admitted it though.” Gambia grabbed Bartolomeo’s arm in one hand and his belt in the other, hoisted him into the air and threw him a good seven meters down the beach.

Bartolomeo landed in the sand with a thump. 

Gambia walked over and offered a hand, “Better?”

“Ya, thanks.” Bartolomeo took the hand and got to his feet. He cracked his neck, then his fingers and finished off by spitting into the sand. Gambia held out a flask, which Bartolomeo took gratefully. The burning liquid warmed him, helped him focus.

“Alright,” he said, “Wake up as many punks as you can, we’ve got some business to take care of.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!


	7. The Blackrope Pirates

Cavendish rubbed his wrists against their rope restraints, testing the give. The rope was tight, but the blonde was still insulted that his captors thought rope could hold him at all. They didn't even have the decency to put him in chains! It's like they were begging him to escape.

Cavendish sighed and looked around the camp. It was well hidden; he literally sat in its center, but he had a hard time determining what was part of the jungle and what was man-made. The various tents and structures were covered in plants, and Cavendish had a growing suspicion that the pirates had been here for quite some time. His two guards sat at a small table, close enough to be within earshot. They were mostly silent, and in the rare moments they did speak, the conversation would be about useless things like how Guard A needed a haircut (he really did) or about Guard B’s new medication for his toe fungus (gross). Unable to bear the subject matter, Cavendish tuned them out.

A warm breeze blew through the trees and pulled at his hair. It was strong enough to blow off his hat, or it would be, if he still had his hat. Unfortunately, he had lost it back in the jungle when he was fighting the group of Blackrope Pirates. 

After Farul had left, Cavendish battled the other pirates. He fought carefully, because he had not known the strength of the enemy. Fortunately for Cavendish, the skill of his opponents was lacking, and none of them had revealed a Devil Fruit ability. Cavendish could have defeated them, but he would have wasted a perfect opportunity. The blonde knew that he would be taken to the Blackrope Pirate’s camp, so he had allowed himself to be captured. Of course, straight out surrender would be foolish and obviously suspicious, so Cavendish was forced to put on a show.

Cavendish had allowed his enemy to force him backwards. Sometimes the blonde would purposely lose his footing or leave an opening in his guard; and each time, the pirates took the bait to strike him. After the Blackrope pirates had overtaken Cavendish and ‘successfully’ disarmed him, they had―as predicted― taken him to their base. Although he was currently swordless and bleeding from several cuts, Cavendish considered his infiltration to be the best part of his entire week. The only downside was that his clothes had gotten so caked in mud that he’d likely have to throw them away. And he missed his hat.

Cavendish rested his head against the post he was bound to. He gazed up at the sky, or at least the fragment of sky he could see through the canopy of wide leaves. It was still pretty dark out, and he wondered how long he had until dawn. He also wondered if Farul had made it back to the beach, and if so, what Cyra had decided to do about Cavendish’s impromptu disappearance. Knowing Cyra, she probably acted quickly to form a search party. Would his crew find him, and more importantly, would they find him without being detected?

When he was captured and brought up the mountain, he had been blindfolded and restrained. Normally, he would have used some method to leave a trail, but the circumstances wouldn’t allow it. The Blackrope pirates may have been stupid enough to bring him to their camp, but it seemed they weren’t stupid enough to show him where it was. What a pity. Even so, Cavendish trusted his nakama to find him; they were quite the capable bunch, after all.

But what about  _ him? _

Despite the fact that Cavendish shouldn’t give half a shit about Bartolomeo, he couldn’t help but imagine how the green-haired man reacted. Did he laugh at Cavendish’s situation? Did he shrug indifferently, or perhaps get angry at Cavendish for killing the mood of the party?

Did Bartolomeo feel guilty for forcing Cavendish into the jungle?

Cavendish snorted. There was no way Bartolomeo would care about Cavendish―let alone feel any guilt. To hell with Bartolomeo. Cavendish was so close to getting what he came to this island for, and nothing was going to stop him. Bartolomeo can cry his dumb eyes out when Cavendish rubs the Heaven Stone in his face. 

Cavendish’s attention was brought back to the guards when they greeted a third pirate. She whispered urgently to her two comrades, gesturing to a sheet of paper in her hands, then pointing to Cavendish. 

“No way, he has a bounty of three hundred thirty million belli?!” Cavendish heard one of the guards exclaim.

“Yes, it seems you really did capture Whitehorse Cavendish,” the woman said, “the captain demanded that we bring him to the ship. He wants to sell him to the marines, so we can't risk him escaping.”

“Ha! This guy was super weak when we fought him, that bounty must be exaggerated. Or maybe it’s so high because of his looks!”

Cavendish took offence at the man’s words. How dare he imply that his beauty was only worth 330, 000, 000 belli?

“Well whatever the case, I brought these just to be safe.” The woman held out a pair of cuffs. They were thick, and had two chain strands for twice the hold.

“We won't need those, I told you he's just a pretty face.” 

“It’s because you always underestimate your opponents that you end up being defeated in battle. Step aside.”

Cavendish grinned when he saw the guard’s expression sour. The lovely lady was right, and the blonde appreciated the fact that she saw him as a threat. Cavendish had long since lost count of all the times male enemies had underestimated him because of his appearance. It was always the women that took him seriously. He supposed it was because they knew what it was like to be dismissed as weak before any weapons had even been drawn.

Cavendish thought back to the conversation he had with Bartolomeo about the Datura Metel. Men should really think twice about forming opinions based on looks or gender.

“She's right, you know,” Cavendish said, as the two guards untied him from the pole, “you really shouldn't underestimate me.”

With the speed of a striking snake, Cavendish thrust his hands forward to punch the first man’s throat. 

“That's for calling me weak.”

The slackened ropes tore from the force of his attack, and Cavendish grabbed a loose section of it, spun around, and whipped the strands across the second man's face. 

“That’s for underestimating me.”

The two guards stumbled in shock and were too busy clutching their wounded body parts to defend against the smiling blonde.

“And this is for my hat.” 

Cavendish gripped each man by their hair and brought their skulls together with a loud crack. Both bodies crumpled to the ground and stayed there.

Cavendish clapped his hands together as if he’d just taken out the trash. Now for the hard part. He turned to face the female pirate, who was glaring at the bodies as if they actually were trash.

“May I ask for your name, Madam?” Cavendish inquired.

“Vetta,” she said, “and I’m here to bring you to my captain.”

“So I heard.”

Vetta pulled a gun from her belt and aimed it at Cavendish’s heart. “Come quietly and I won’t shoot you.”

“I don’t advise using a firearm against me.”

“Why, because you aren’t fast enough to dodge?” she challenged.

She was partially correct. Cavendish had been shot at many times in his life; sometimes he dodged, sometimes he got hit. When he did get hit though, it guaranteed a thoroughly pissed off Hakuba. Cavendish couldn’t afford to take the risk. He needed to convince her to put down the gun.

“Perhaps. But you see, if you fire that gun, your comrades would most likely be alerted, and seeing as how I’m trying to escape, it wouldn’t be good for me.”

“But good for me.”

“Indeed. However, my comrades are also in this jungle looking for me. They too will hear the shot and come to my aid. The result is a much bigger commotion than either of us want.” 

“You could be bluffing. Our scouts haven’t reported any foreign activity at our borders,” she said calmly.

“I suppose that is reassuring for you, so long as your comrades are more capable than these two,” Cavendish gestured to his feet at the unconscious men. “Otherwise they have no hope of detecting my crew.”

Vetta glanced at the men as well, her unimpressed gaze flicking with doubt. “So we settle this between us, is that it?” 

“Precisely.”

“Fine. Seeing as neither of us have a sword, shall we settle for hand to hand?” she asked, putting her gun on the nearby table.

“Fine with me,” Cavendish agreed.

The conversation died after that, as both pirates readied themselves by shifting into their respective battle stances. Cavendish eyed Vetta’s form; it was sturdy, but light. He could tell it would optimize her speed. He needed to be careful.

Vetta moved first and Cavendish had to immediately sidestep her flying kick. Wasting no time, Cavendish retaliated with a sharp punch aimed at her solar plexus. Unfortunately, she was fast enough to dodge, but not completely. The punch hit her shoulder and the momentum caused her body to turn sharply. Her foot slipped in the mud, but instead of recovering, Vatta rolled forward, distancing herself momentarily.

Not bad.

Cavendish ran at her. He punched left but was blocked by a strong forearm, so he flattened his hand and snapped it down onto her collarbone. She punched his jaw in return. They continued to exchange blows for another minute, but Cavendish finally managed to pin her in a head lock. She struggled, elbowing him in the ribs repeatedly, but the lack of air eventually caused her to pass out.

Cavendish paused to catch his breath before dragging her body to the post, along with the two fallen guards. He arranged the three bodies around it, tying them in place with some vines from the trees. Lastly, he picked a large flower from the surrounding foliage, and put it in one of the men’s mouth. He trailed a path of petals to the table and used a knife (borrowed from a guard) to scratch a short message into the wood.

With that done, Cavendish began searching the nearby crates and tents for his sword. He found it in a tent with several other weapons. He checked Durandal for any signs of damage, and thankfully there were none. Cavendish swiped a pistol and some powder bombs. The bombs were small, but released quite the explosion on impact. 

Only one tent remained in the camp, and Cavendish almost cried upon entering it. There, resting on the table, was a  _ map.  _ Cavendish grabbed the paper greedily, and strained his eyes to make out the inked lines. He laughed victoriously at what he saw. It turns out the Blackrope Pirates  _ were  _ mining, and the bloody mine was only a ten minute walk from Cavendish’s current location. 

Cavendish burned the route to the mine into his memory. He left the tent in a hurry and used the guard’s knife to stab the map onto a nearby tree. If his crew ended up tracking him, they’d eventually see the map as well.

With nothing to hold him back, Cavendish ran further into the jungle, heart hammering with excitement. The Heaven Stone was almost his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know the story has been pretty slow so far, but I promise to pick it up soon! As always, thanks for reading!! Also, I am planning to write some one shots for the 'share the love month' on tumblr. If you have any prompts you can comment here or send me an ask on my tumblr: c-dragon-pirates.tumblr.com


	8. Into the Mountain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated the tags!!

Cavendish sat in the bushes, hidden from sight. Across from him was a small plateau. The area was bordered partially by the jungle―where the blonde was currently located―and partially by a tall mountain wall. A small part of the plateau seemed to drop off into a cliff, but Cavendish was too far away to tell how deep the drop was. The most notable detail was the large opening in the mountainside, and the four pirates guarding the entrance. It was most definitely the mine that held the Heaven Stone.

The plants behind Cavendish rustled harshly and he whipped around, sword in hand.

“Easy there, Cap, it’s just me.”

To say that Cavendish was glad to see Kozu would be a massive understatement. Cavendish had grown more anxious with each passing minute that his crew did not appear. Therefore, the sight of Kozu immediately soothed his nerves.

“It sure took you long enough to find me,” Cavendish said fondly. Kozu rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Where are the others?”

“They’re a little ways back, I figured it would be too conspicuous to have us all this close to the mine.” 

“Well, let’s go back, then,” Cavendish said. He pat Kozu on the back, “And good job.”

Kozu grinned. He led Cavendish back deeper into the jungle and it wasn’t long until the rest of their nakama came into view. After the initial bombardment of ‘Captain, you’re ok’ and ‘We’re so glad to see you,’ the group eventually settled down. Cyra, Kozu and Farul remained beside Cavendish as the other pirates set up a loose perimeter around them. 

Cavendish explained to them that it had been his plan to get captured in order to find the enemy’s location. Predictably, Cyra scolded him for being reckless, but the glint in her eye proved that she wasn’t actually angry at him.

“I knew you could track me, so there was no problem,” Cavendish said. 

“Well, you did make it quite easy,” Cyra held out a mud-stained object and it took Cavendish a minute to recognize it.

“My hat!” he exclaimed. He took his beloved accessory from her hands and attempted to brush off the flaking mud. It would need an intense cleaning later, but in all honesty, its condition could be worse. Cavendish gently strapped it to Farul’s saddle for safekeeping. 

“We also found the map and your message, though ‘I’m going on ahead’ wasn’t very helpful,” Cyra remarked dryly. Cavendish shrugged indifferently.

“Anyway, I’ve already developed a plan to sneak into the mine. There are four guards at the entrance, but so far I haven’t seen any others. It’s possible there will be more once we get inside. Therefore, I want to split up our group; half will come with me inside, and half will stay behind to guard the plateau to ensure no other Blackrope pirates can enter after us.” As Cavendish spoke, Cyra and Kozu nodded their agreement. They seemed just as eager to get this done as Cavendish was. 

“Alright so who’s doing what?” Kozu asked.

“I’m backing you up,” Cyra told Cavendish. 

“I’d also like to see what’s in that mine,” Kozu said.

“Alright then, you two can come with me. Farul, you stay here and keep a sharp ear out,” Cavendish ordered. 

With their small meeting concluded, Cyra went off to split up the crew and Kozu left to make sure the plateau was still relatively empty. Cavendish remained with Farul for a few more moments, combing his fingers through the horse’s tattered mane. This island did atrocious things to hair, and Cavendish tried not to think about how muddy and knotted his own locks were.

“I want to come too!” 

Cavendish glanced up when he heard the shout. Who the hell was making so much noise in this sort of situation? Wait, was that Pepper?! Cavendish marched over to where Pepper was struggling to escape Cyra’s restraining grip.

“Pepper, why are you here?” Cavendish demanded.

“Ah! Cavendish-sir, um, I was worried about you when you disappeared so I volunteered to help look for you, and I’m really glad you’re okay and all, but I still want to help you because I feel responsible for my boss’ behaviour, so um I’d really appreciate it if you let me help you―”

“Alright, stop.” Cavendish held up a hand to silence the rambling boy. “Does Bartolomeo know you’re here?”

Pepper nodded but avoided Cavendish’s gaze. The blonde narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Look at me, Pepper,” Cavendish said, “Does Bartolomeo want you here?”

“Not exactly…” Pepper whispered.

Cavendish brought his fingers to massage his temples. Everytime Pepper appeared, the blonde was guaranteed to get a headache. He turned to Cyra accusingly, “Why didn’t you stop him?” 

“If Bartolomeo couldn’t, what makes you think I could have?” 

“Ugh, this is ridiculous!” Cavendish really didn’t have time to deal with this. He wasn’t the least bit surprised that Bartolomeo had refused to look for him. Frankly, the blonde didn’t even care. All he wanted to do was get the stone and put this entire thing behind him. But now he had to take care of Pepper, because Bartolomeo may not care about Cavendish, but he certainly cared for this kid. “Cyra, we are taking Pepper with us and you do not leave his side, do you understand?”

“Yes, captain.”

“And you,” Cavendish pinned Pepper with his gaze, “though I appreciate the concern, I do not need your help. You barely know me and throwing yourself into dangerous situations for strangers is stupid, especially when you disobey your captain's orders in the process. When this is over I’m going to take you back to Bartolomeo and see to it that you apologize for your insubordination. Understood?” 

“Yes sir,” Pepper said petulantly.

“Good, in the meantime, show me what you’ve got,” Cavendish held out the pistol he had stolen from the camp.

Pepper’s eyes widened in surprise, but he took the gun with steady hands. 

“Alright people, let’s get a move on,” Cavendish clapped his hands sharply, “we’ve got a stone to steal!”

\-------------------------  
The mine was cool, and Cavendish was grateful for the break from the sweltering heat. He moved quietly down the dark tunnel, his crew trailing right behind him. Kozu had made quick work of the guards at the entrance, and the group had entered the mine without trouble. But something about the never ending tunnel was putting Cavendish on edge. The passageway never split off in a different direction, the lanterns hanging on the stone walls were cold and flameless, but most of all; there were no other people.

Cavendish had expected to deal with workers or more sentries, but the mine was empty of all life except for the Beautiful Pirates. Tension coiled in Cavendish’s body. Now that he was thinking about it, the entire mountainside had been significantly low with enemies. Aside from the few people who had guarded him, the camp had been empty. And the area around the mine was barely protected at all. It was too easy.

“Something is wrong,” he whispered.

Before he could properly think, a large opening came into view. The tunnel had reached its end. Cavendish cautiously stepped into the new room, though ‘room’ might not be the right word. It was more like a cavern, a very wide and very tall cavern. 

The pirates all stopped to stare in wonder. The ceiling of the cavern had a large hole in it, and pale, grey light filtered down to illuminate the area. The light reflected off the damp walls, causing them to give off an eerie glow. In the center of the cavern stood a golden staff, The Heaven Stone resting proudly atop it.

“Is that..?” Cyra breathed.

Cavendish’s feet moved of their own accord. He wanted to touch it, he needed to know that it was real. He stood in front of the staff, the stone level with his eyes. It was unimaginably beautiful; smooth and round, but with a pattern resembling a lightning storm. Powerful energy surrounded it, and Cavendish reached up, wanting to feel that power on his skin.

He snatched his hand away just as an axe whizzed by, missing the stone by inches. Cavendish looked up to the hole in the ceiling where a pirate was descending from a rope. The pirate lifted another axe and threw it, forcing Cavendish to jump backwards. 

Cavendish’s crew quickly surged forward, creating a circle around their captain. So this had been a trap all along. Axe-man finished climbing down the rope and grasped the staff. Before Cavendish or anyone could stop him, he pulled back his arm and threw the staff. Cavendish’s heart leaped into his throat, dreading the moment the staff would crash back into the floor.

It didn’t. Instead, it was snatched from the air by yet another pirate. He stood on a small outcropping halfway up the cavern wall. Cavendish should’ve been angry about the Heaven Stone, but what offended him more was the man’s outfit. Seriously, what the fuck? He was dressed head to toe in a blinding red suit, his shirt, tie, shoes―literally everything was red. The suit had black epaulettes, and long cords of black rope hung from them, some falling straight and some looping to attach to his collar. Worst of all was the man’s makeup. His brows were clearly painted on, and they were painted too high at that. The eyeshadow was red, the lipstick was red―Cavendish wanted to gouge his eyes out.  
“Whitehorse Cavendish, I presume?” He looked down at Cavendish, a triumphant, conceited grin stretched across his face. He stroked his unworthy fingers over the stone, eyes never leaving Cavendish’s. 

“That’s right. And who might you be?” As they spoke, more pirates were descending from the rope. Cyra was drawing one of her throwing knives, but Cavendish subtly placed his hand on her arm to stop her.

“I am Hue von Franztence, Captain of the Blackrope Pirates, man of a two hundred million bounty. No doubt you’ve heard of me.”

“Actually no, I haven’t,” Cavendish shrugged. Franz-whatever flushed angrily, but Cavendish wasn’t even lying, he’d seriously never heard of this guy.

“Well, I doubt you’ll forget my name after today, for it is I who possesses the Heaven Stone!” 

“Listen Captain Hue No Fashionsense,” Cavendish snapped, “that stone is mine and I am not letting you take it! You and your ten buddies are outnumbered, so give up now and I’ll let you walk out of here in one piece.”

“Who exactly outnumbers who?” No Fashionsense asked slyly.

At that moment, a second group of Blackrope pirates burst from the tunnel. The two groups surrounded Cavendish and his crew and No Fashionsense laughed from his perch.

“I’d say you’re the ones who’re outnumbered, eh, Cavendish?”

Cavendish hated how his name sounded coming from those horrendous red lips.

“Perhaps, but you’re still outmatched,” Cavendish retorted. “Why don’t you get off your high horse and come see how outclassed you really are.”

“Kill them!” No Fashionsense yelled furiously.

Chaos erupted as the two crews leaped at each other. The peaceful cavern was filled with the sounds of battle; the ring of steel, the firing of pistols and the shouts of fury. Cavendish tried to run towards the Blackrope’s captain, but was blocked by the man who had thrown the axes at him. He had both axes in his hands now, and was much larger up close, probably two heads taller than the blonde. But Cavendish wasted no time in swinging his sword. 

Despite his size, Axe-man was pretty fast, and able to keep up with Cavendish’s nimble attacks. One axe blocked Durandal while the other swung towards Cavendish’s side. The blonde managed to twist out of range, but just barely.

As he fought, Cavendish tried to keep tabs on everyone else. Kozu was holding his own against several opponents, his twin daggers slashing viciously. Cyra and Pepper had maneuvered to the edge of the crowd and were steadily picking off enemy pirates from afar. Pepper was actually a decent shot. But no matter how many of the Blackrope pirates fell, more took their place. Not to mention Cavendish and his crew had been awake for roughly twenty four hours and some of them were still drunk from the party mere hours ago.

This wasn’t looking good.

If anyone asked Cavendish how he expected to win this fight, he would have given an answer like 'fate' or ‘sheer damn luck’. Never would he have imagined that his saving grace would come in the form of a fanged, green-haired, ill-mannered asshole with a bad attitude.

But hey, stranger things have happened. Probably.

Bartolomeo and his crew emerged from the tunnel like water rushing from a broken dam. They took the unsuspecting Blackrope pirates by surprise and ruthlessly cut them down. The tide of the battle shifted immediately as the enemy pirates struggled to stand their ground.

Cavendish heard Bartolomeo yell like a madman and in some mysterious, warped way, it filled the blonde with new energy. 

Grinning, Cavendish thrust his blade at Axe-man. This startled the large man because he had adjusted himself to block for Cavendish’s slashes, not his stabs. What a fool, Durandal was a rapier; it was made for stabbing. The axe that moved to block the thrust was too slow and Cavendish plunged the tip of his sword into the man’s gut. Axe-man roared in pain, but continued to swing his axes. Cavendish stabbed him through the thigh. This time, Axe-man fell to the ground, succumbing to his wounds.

“Cavendish!” 

The blonde looked around to see Cyra desperately throw a knife at the fleeing red figure. The knife just missed his head, but before she could make a second attempt, another pirate jumped her. 

Pepper was behind her, but instead of helping Cyra, the stupid kid left her to run after No Fashionsense. Cavendish watched in horror as the pair disappeared down the tunnel.

Goddamn it Pepper!

Cavendish sheathed his sword and ran after Pepper with everything he had. He swiped Cyra’s knife from the ground and rushed into the tunnel. The sounds of battle faded and were replaced by the pounding of Cavendish’s boots on stone floor. He became aware that there was another rhythm besides his own. He lifted Cyra’s knife and glanced over his shoulder, expecting an enemy.

“Howdy,” Bartolomeo said.

Cavendish contemplated throwing the knife anyway.

“Why are you here!?” Cavendish shouted as they ran.

“Wow, how ‘bout a ‘thank-you’? I did just save your ass, you know.” Bartolomeo actually had the gall to look offended. 

“Don’t even start!”

“YOU started, actually.”

“So help me Bartolomeo, I will stab you with this knife!”

Bartolomeo’s snippy retort was cut off by a gunshot. Both men glanced at each other in alarm and they pushed themselves to run faster. The tunnel seemed to go on forever.

When at last the entrance appeared and the pair ran out onto the plateau, the sight that greeted them froze Cavendish’s blood. 

No Fashionsense stood with his back to the cliff, one hand holding the staff and the other pointing a gun at Pepper. Pepper was holding the pistol Cavendish had given him, and judging by the thin trail of smoke coming from its barrel, it must have been Pepper’s shot he had heard in the tunnel. It was hard to tell because of all the red, but the Blackrope captain’s side seemed to be bleeding. 

Pepper had actually hit him.

Unfortunately, No Fashionsense obviously didn't appreciate the wound. He cursed at Pepper and squeezed the trigger on his gun.

“PEPPER MOVE!” Bartolomeo bellowed.

The world seemed to move in slow motion as several things happened at once. Cavendish flung Cyra’s knife at No Fashionsense, knowing it would hit too late. There was a deafening pop as the shot went off. Cavendish saw Bartolomeo’s fingers cross in a desperate attempt to create a barrier. There was a scream, a flash of white and Pepper fell to the ground. 

Time sped up once more. Cavendish’s knife hit the Blackrope captain's hand, snapping the gun from his grip and sending it sailing over the cliff. Bartolomeo’s barrier formed, its impenetrable surface rendered useless against time.

Pepper screamed and Cavendish’s eyes settled on the boy with trepidation. He was afraid of what he'd see.

Pepper sat on the ground, crying softly, but otherwise unharmed. He was cradling something in his lap, something Cavendish knew well. Suddenly the flash of white made sense. 

Cavendish slowly, mutely approached Pepper and Farul. The white horse lay still on the ground, head resting on the boy’s lap. Cavendish knelt beside his friend, stroking his face gently, trying to ignore the blood that was pouring from a hole in his shoulder. Pepper was apologizing over and over, but Cavendish barely heard him. He placed his hand near Farul’s nose and waited. After what seemed like an eternity, he felt the slightest of puffs against his hand. He was breathing.

Cavendish unclasped his cape and gave it to Pepper. “Stop the bleeding.”

Cavendish stood and faced Captain Hue von Franztence. Bartolomeo had put a barrier around the man’s body, and if it was unnecessarily tight, well, Cavendish couldn't find it in him to sympathize. 

Cavendish approached Franztence slowly, each step measured and precise. Once he was in front of the restrained man, he leaned in close, close enough for a kiss, and sweetly, calmly said, “You should not have done that.”

Cavendish punched him in his stupid red face. Then again, and again. There was blood on his hands, red like that atrocious suit. Cavendish punched harder.

He wanted more. Franztence needed to pay. He would pay. Hakuba applauded Cavendish’s bloodlust. He urged him on, begged Cavendish to let him in on the fun.

Someone grasped his shoulder.

“Oi, that's enough,” Bartolomeo said.

“Let go,” Cavendish warned.

“No. Take that staff thing and leave him.”

“He has to pay!” Cavendish screamed. He whirled on Bartolomeo, blue eyes flashing gold.

“Your horse is going to pay if you draw this out any longer!”

Cavendish breathed in sharply, the rage subsiding from his mind. He grabbed the staff out of Franztence’s hand and backed away. Bartolomeo undid his barrier and Franztence crumpled to the ground. Bartolomeo started walking back towards Pepper. 

“Wahahaha…” 

“I don't see what's so funny,” Cavendish said to Franztence, who struggled to sit upright.

“This!” With a shout, he lifted his hand. It pulsed black and Cavendish had enough time to curse before a black energy-wave hit him, sending him hurtling backwards into a surprised Bartolomeo. The staff flew from his hands and once again, Franztence caught it mid air.

“I'll be taking this,” he wheezed.

Without another word, Franztence stood and jumped off the cliff. Cavendish untangled himself from Bartolomeo intending to run and look over the edge. He only managed to get halfway to the cliff when a burning sensation suddenly circled his neck. The hot pain stopped his movements. 

Cavendish tried to move, but each step intensified the pain until it spread throughout his body. He fell to the ground and let out a tortured scream. He heard Bartolomeo scream as well. He looked towards the green-haired man, who was writhing on the ground near a frantic Pepper. Through the haze of nausea and fire, Cavendish could just make out the glowing black rope that was wrapped around Bartolomeo’s throat. With shaking hands, Cavendish felt around his own neck, hardly surprised to feel a cord.

Before the fire consumed him, Cavendish used the last of his energy to curse his fate.

“Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh, finally some action ;)  
> c-dragon-pirates.tumblr.com


	9. Bound

The first thing Cavendish saw upon waking up was the familiar pastel yellow of his bedroom ceiling, and for a moment, he entertained the idea that the past 24 hours had just been a horrible, incredibly-realistic dream. The fantasy was quickly killed by the loud snoring that came from beside him. Cavendish sat up slowly and, apprehensively, looked over the side of his bed. 

Bartolomeo lay sprawled out on the floor, sleeping soundly despite his location. A blanket was half tangled between his legs and half resting on the chaise that he must have fallen off of. What an idiot. Cavendish scowled as the other man drooled on his expensive carpet.   

Cavendish closed his eyes and tried to recall why Bartolomeo was in his room. His memory was a blur. He had fought Franztence. He had been hit by a devil fruit ability which had caused him intense pain. He remembered Bartolomeo screaming and a rope around his neck…

Cavendish’s hand snapped to his neck, feeling the smooth skin for any signs of blistering or fabric. He felt nothing unusual. Had he imagined the rope? Cavendish glanced at Bartolomeo to see if he had anything tied around his neck, but the man’s stupid feathered coat collar was blocking his view. To make matters worse, Cavendish couldn't even go look in a mirror because his wrists were chained to the wall. It was a necessary precaution against Hakuba, but the restraints meant he couldn't leave his bed until someone came to unlock him. 

So he sat in silence, countless questions filling his head. What had happened to the Heaven Stone? Did the Blackrope Pirates escape? Was his crew alright? Was  _ Farul  _ alright? 

Throughout the blonde’s silent worrying, Bartolomeo continued to snore.

The sound was getting on Cavendish’s last nerve. It was cruel to have to put up with Bartolomeo’s presence in his room, let alone having to listen to him snort and grumble in his sleep. 

“Hng...no come back….don’t leave….”

Cavendish raised his eyebrow at the pleading note in the man’s voice. He had never heard Bartolomeo sound like that before. Was he dreaming about someone important? Had he perhaps been abandoned at some point? Cavendish strained his ears and listened for the potential juicy secrets Bartolomeo was about to let slip.

“...wait...Luffy...senpai~”

“WAKE UP YOU LAZY OAF!” Cavendish hurled a pillow at Bartolomeo’s face, and it hit with a loud slap.

“Fucking hell!” Bartolomeo jumped up, eyes wild and alert. 

Cavendish ignored the outburst. Of course Bartolomeo would dream about Strawhat; he’s all the man ever thinks about. Cavendish was stupid to assume that Bartolomeo had some dark, depressing past; and even if he did, the blonde had no interest in learning about it. A twinge of disappointment pinched at Cavendish’s chest, which he promptly squashed into oblivion.

He absolutely did not care.

“What was that for, Blondie?!” Bartolomeo demanded as he rubbed his reddening nose.

“Your disgusting snoring was invading my peace and quiet. If you want to be obnoxiously annoying, go do it somewhere else,” Cavendish said. He turned his nose up at Bartolomeo and crossed his arms stubbornly. The action unfortunately made his chains rattle, and Cavendish felt rather than saw Bartolomeo smirk. Cavendish groaned internally, knowing what would come next.

“Do you always sleep chained to the bed? That’s pretty kinky, Cabbage. Never would have pegged you as the type,” Bartolomeo’s smirk turned filthy, and his red eyes followed the line of chain to Cavendish’s wrist and up his chest.

Cavendish opened his mouth to snap a retort, but those red eyes suddenly caught his gaze and the words died on his lips. Bartolomeo's stare was strange and intense and completely invasive. It felt nothing like all of the other times he had looked at Cavendish―with mockery and contempt. This was much more personal. For the first time, Cavendish felt like he was actually being  _ seen. _

And he didn't know if that was a good or bad thing.

The feeling vanished as Bartolomeo blinked and looked away. He shoved his hands in his ugly red and yellow pant pockets and made a show of looking around Cavendish’s room as if he hadn’t just visually abused the blonde seconds ago. 

“So why exactly am I in your room? Did you knock me out and bring me here to play with you, because as interesting as that offer is, you could at least buy me a drink before we get it o―”

“For fucks sake, why do you have to be such a repulsive jackass?!” Cavendish screamed. Like, really screamed. He screamed so loud his voice cracked and Bartolomeo actually looked shocked. Cavendish hated screaming; it was rude and ungentlemanly, hardly acceptable for someone of his level of refinement. But he was at his wit’s end. The stress from the shitshow that had been the past few days was finally catching up to him. And screaming felt really good right now.

“I didn’t bring you here you arrogant baffoon, and certainly not for the reason you just implied. I’d rather fuck a cactus than have you in my bed! You are so unbearably shameless and rude and unapologetic. Do you have any idea what you put me through yesterday?! You call me out when I’m in the middle of obtaining one of the most precious treasures on the Grand Line,” Cavendish began counting Bartolomeo’s actions on his fingers, “then you insult my nakama and thoroughly piss me off in the process. Just when I thought you had enough, you follow MY crew up the fucking mountain and get involved in MY fight when no one asked you to. Not only that but you had the audacity to stop me from killing the man that SHOT MY BEST FRIEND, which allowed him to take my treasure and escape after he hit me with his Devil Fruit! So remind me again why I would want you in my room, let alone on my ship, after everything you’ve done to hinder me? If it weren’t for these chains and my expensive carpet, I would have slit your throat as you slept instead of throwing a pillow at your idiotic face!”

Cavendish panted roughly and fell onto his back. He pulled his sheets up over his face childishly, but he didn’t want to look at Bartolomeo anymore. His throat hurt and his anger level was getting dangerously high, but he felt...better. The worry and the stress clearly needed an outlet and now that he had screamed them out of his body, Cavendish just felt tired. He could use a cup of tea. Or five.

A low whistle threatened to set Cavendish off again, and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from screaming.

“Wow Cabbage, I must say I’m surprised. I didn’t think you had that in you.”

“Bartolomeo I swear―”

“Shut up and listen,” Bartolomeo said.

Cavendish did, though it was more out of surprise than actual obedience.

“I admit that some of the things that happened were my fault,” Bartolomeo began hesitantly.

“Some―”

“I said shut it!” Bartolomeo snapped. He continued in a quieter tone, “That guy in the red suit took the treasure you wanted, ya? So since I am sort of, very partially to blame, I am offering my assistance to, uh, h- he,”

“Almost there,” Cavendish remarked dryly.

“Fuck it all. Help! I’ll help you get your treasure back!” Bartolomeo said the words like they physically pained him.

Cavendish smirked from beneath his sheets. So Bartolomeo did have the capacity to feel guilty. How interesting.

“As sincere as that offer sounded,” Cavendish said sarcastically, “what makes you think I even want your help?”

“Oi, and you say  _ I’m  _ an ass!”

Cavendish pulled the sheets low enough to reveal his eyes. He stared at Bartolomeo pointedly.

“Ok fine, I’m an ass,” Bartolomeo threw his hands in the air, “but I’m trying here! Give me some credit.”

“The fact that you’re trying is disturbing in itself.”

“I can’t win with you, can I?” he growled. “Well, whatever. I’m going back to my ship. Come get me if you decide I’m worthy or whatever the fuck.” 

Bartolomeo paused at the doorway, waiting for Cavendish’s reply. When none was offered, he shrugged and left. Cavendish sighed in relief. Finally, he could be alone. 

Cavendish scratched his neck as he sat up. For some reason the back of his neck was persistently itchy. He moved his hair to rest over one shoulder, thinking it was the cause of his discomfort.

The itch intensified. Cavendish flinched as a painful burning began to bloom around his neck. He clapped his hands around his throat, and was startled at how cool they felt against his heated skin. 

What was happening?

Cavendish choked on the pain. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. He clawed at his neck, desperate to dig the flames from his flesh. It hurt to breathe. Tears pricked at his eyes as his nails scratched down his neck, but his fingers felt nothing but smooth skin.

For a moment, Cavendish feared that Hakuba was the cause of the torture. Had he found a way to wound Cavendish from the inside? Was this all in his head ? 

Cavendish tried to focus on Hakuba’s presence. To his surprise, Hakuba was writhing in pain and fury. It wasn't him.

Cavendish leaned forward as the burning pulsed further down his neck, and for one blessed moment, the blinding sting lessened. The blonde felt it then; hidden behind a wall of pain was a subtle pull at his soul.

It was a strange sensation, and the blonde struggled to hold onto it through his delirious pain. It was as if his soul was being pulled towards something, like it needed to be close to whatever it was gravitating towards.

Cavendish crawled to the end of his bed, following the direction of the pull. Immediately, a fraction of the pain subsided. The relief was short lived because the chains around his wrists prevented Cavendish from going any further. He was trapped.

The pain continued and Cavendish could only glare at his chains. From somewhere in his mind, Hakuba laughed. Cavendish supposed it was funny; the chains used to restrain Hakuba were now the cause of his own imprisonment and torture. 

_ Poetic irony at its finest,  _ Cavendish thought bitterly. He frowned and grit his teeth against the agony. He had no choice but to wait until someone came to unlock the chains. He'd have to endure until then.

Barely ten seconds passed before Cavendish heard heavy footsteps rushing towards his room. He looked up through the haze of pain as someone threw open his door and desperately launched themself at Cavendish. 

The large body collided with him with a thump, and Cavendish found himself pinned under the heavy weight. He was shocked and confused, unsure as to who was laying ontop of him, with their arms around him and face buried in his neck. But none of that really mattered because the pain was  _ receding _ . It rushed out of Cavendish like a waterfall, the burning in his neck becomng cool. 

Cavendish hugged the figure on top of him tightly, and the overwhelming sense of calm and rightness that filled him was terrifying. Cavendish could remember the last time he had felt so safe just from being close to someone, and that was a long time ago, under very different circumstances.

Warm breath ghosted over his neck and Cavendish became aware of how much the two of them were panting. The pain had completely vanished, and without its distraction, Cavendish could acutely feel the intimacy of their position. And it was  _ very  _ intimate.

It was obvious that the person currently bodily embracing Cavendish was, in fact, a man. It was also obvious, judging by the mess of green hair brushing against the blonde’s nose, that the man was Bartolomeo. What wasn't obvious, was  _ why  _ Bartolomeo had tackled him or, more importantly, why Cavendish hadn't killed him yet. These were important questions that needed serious consideration.

Bartolomeo groaned.  _ Into Cavendish’s neck _ .

The stupid man seemed content to just use Cavendish as a pillow, while the blonde himself was on the verge of a panic attack. Bartolomeo turned his head to nestle into blonde locks, and he must have recognized the hair because Cavendish felt how the man’s entire body stiffened.

For some incomprehensible reason, Cavendish held his breath. Slowly, Bartolomeo pushed himself up, his arms on either side of Cavendish’s head. Cavendish knew his eyes were wide with shock and uncertainty, and as Bartolomeo looked down at him, expression carefully neutral, the blonde felt his heartbeat speed up. What the hell was with this crazy atmosphere? Cavendish felt petrified, trapped.

“Don’t freak out.” Bartolomeo must have noticed the panic rising within the blonde, because his words were an almost-gentle whisper. Even so, the sound startled Cavendish as if he were a kitten, and he jerked reflexively, knee hitting Bartolomeo between his legs. 

“Son of a mermaid whore!” Bartolomeo swore as he cupped his crotch and promptly fell off the bed. “I said  _ don’t  _ freak out!”

Cavendish flushed in embarrassment at his reaction. Bartolomeo didn’t deserve that (at least not right now). The blonde reached a hand out.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. Bartolomeo studied the offered hand wearily before taking it, wincing slightly as he rose. Bartolomeo stood in front of Cavendish, who still sat on the bed. Both men looked anywhere but at each other. It was awkward, which Cavendish found extremely odd. He had always been the one to smooth over awkward situations, not start them. He tried to say something. Surprisingly, Bartolomeo beat him to it.

“Hey,” Bartolomeo raised his hands placatingly, “Don’t freak out.”

Cavendish willed himself to stay still as Bartolomeo stepped closer. Why was he stepping closer? The man bent down, and they were face to face for a millisecond before Bartolomeo continued downward. He stopped to stare at Cavendish’s throat.

“What the fuck is on your neck?” Bartolomeo asked. He reached up cautiously, making sure Cavendish wouldn’t knee him again, and placed his hand on the blonde’s pale throat. 

Cavendish’s blood ran cold. Was there something on his neck after all?

“What are you talking about?” Cavendish asked. He brought his own hand up to feel his neck; his fingers brushing Bartolomeo’s for an instant. 

“You have a black line right here,” Bartolomeo said, moving his hand from Cavendish’s neck to his own. He drew a line on his neck, but he didn't need to, because there was already one there.

It was a black band, about as thick as two fingers, and it wrapped around Bartolomeo’s throat like a collar. If Cavendish didn't know better, he would have mistaken it for a tattoo.

“Judging by your stupid expression, I'm guessing I got one too,” Bartolomeo said.

Cavendish could only nod. 

“Fucking great,” Bartolomeo sighed. “What does it mean?”

Cavendish rubbed his neck, thoughts racing through his mind. The marks must have something to do with the pain from earlier, and Cavendish first felt the pain when he fought Franztence. Were the marks caused by Franztence’s devil fruit? It seemed to be the most logical answer. Cavendish remembered passing out soon after he was hit by the devil fruit, but that didn't explain why Bartolomeo was affected too. Unless...

A sharp knock on the door caught the attention of both men. Cyra and one of Bartolomeo’s men, Gambia if Cavendish remembered correctly, stood in the open doorway.

“Oh good, you’re both awake,” Cyra said. She immediately approached Cavendish, key in hand, and unlocked his chains. Gambia, who was carrying a tray of tea, stiffly marched into the room after her. “We have news. And you are not going to like it.” 

“Why am I not surprised?” Cavendish sighed and rubbed at his tender wrists. His earlier struggle against the chains had left his skin red and raw. Cyra noticed, and gave him a questioning look, but didn't voice her concern.

Gambia passed Bartolomeo a cup of tea which, to Cavendish’s surprise, he took without complaint. The delicate white porcelain looked out of place in his rough, tanned hands. Cyra plucked a cup from the tray and gently passed it to Cavendish. The blonde accepted it gratefully, inhaling the floral aroma he had been craving since he woke up.

“Alright, what's this news you were on about?” Bartolomeo asked.

“It involves the both of you,” Cyra began, her tone becoming serious. “As you might recall, the captain of the Blackrope Pirates evaded capture and escaped with the Heaven Stone.” 

From the corner of his eye, Cavendish saw Bartolomeo flinch.

“When the two of you left to pursue Pepper, the rest of us finished battling the pirates left in the cave. Eventually, we got them on the run. Unfortunately, most of them escaped through hidden passages in the cave, but we managed to capture a few of them. Afterward, Gambia, Kozu and I went to back you up, but when we got outside, the two of you were passed out, Farul was wounded and Pepper was on the verge of hysteria. He told us what happened between you and Franztence.”

“What is Farul’s condition?” Cavendish asked a little too forcefully.

“We got to him in time; he's patched up and as perky as a foal,” Cyra smiled fondly.

“And Pepper?” Bartolomeo asked.

“He's just as well. That boy hasn't left Farul’s side, and I must say, they have become quite close.”

“Fantastic,” Bartolomeo groaned, but Cavendish could see he was relieved.

Gambia cleared his throat. Cyra glanced at him sharply. They both looked somewhat nervous.

“There's something else isn't there?” Cavendish prompted.

“Yeah, you two look like you're about to piss yourselves.” Cavendish wrinkled his nose at Bartolomeo’s vulgar word choice.

“You'll probably piss yourself when we tell you,” Gambia mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, boss.”

“This has to do with the devil fruit, doesn't it?” Cavendish guessed.

Cyra and Gambia looked at him with shock.

“I don't know why you are so surprised. I was hit with it after all. I have my suspicions on where this is going. Now out with it.”

“Yes captain. The easiest way to say this is to just put it bluntly, I suppose. You two are basically tied to each other by the devil fruit and can't be separated or you'll experience extreme pain and eventually pass out.”

Bartolomeo’s jaw dropped but Cavendish merely closed his eyes, resigned. 

“We don't know the name of the fruit, or the extents of the ability, but we do know that if we pull you two more than ten meters apart, you start to scream and a black mark appears on your neck.”

Cavendish rubbed his neck absentmindedly as Cyra spoke. It made sense now, why having Bartolomeo close to him had relieved his pain.

“Wait, wait, wait. Just hold on a fucking second. Why am I bonded or whatever to  _ him, _ ” Bartolomeo pointed angrily at Cavendish. “ _ I   _ was never hit by the fruit!”

“I collided with you, remember?” Cavendish said calmly. “It must have spread to you as well.”

Bartolomeo stared at him in disbelief. 

“How are you so calm right now!?

“Would you prefer I throw myself into a childish fit like you? That won't help anyone or solve anything. We are stuck like this until we fix it, so stop crying and do something about it."

Bartolomeo growled lowly, mouth opening to shout obscenities, but Cavendish cut him off.

“Besides, this doesn't change your plans. Weren't you going to help me track down Franztence anyway because you felt  _ so  _ guilty?” Cavendish asked sweetly.

Bartolomeo’s face turned red. Gambia and Cyra busied themselves with collecting the empty teacups to hide their smirks. 

Cavendish was not at all happy with his current situation, but the expression of pure constipation that Bartolomeo wore made it almost bearable.

Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its been so hot lately that I lack motivation to do anything. Winter can't come fast enough.  
> c-dragon-pirates.tumblr.com


	10. Apologies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you all may not know this about me, but I love bath scenes. It was only a matter of time until one found its way into this fic.

Cavendish nearly cried when the warm spray of the shower met his tired, mud-encrusted body. He watched as the grime turned the water murky, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust, mentally berating himself for his lack of care towards his own appearance. He grabbed his sponge and soap and immediately scrubbed at his skin until it flushed red and the water rushing down the drain was as clear as diamonds. Then, he patiently worked out every knot that had formed in his golden hair, making sure to add a liberal amount of hydrating conditioner when he finished. With a practiced motion, Cavendish tied the damp locks into a loose bun. 

Feeling more like himself now that he was clean, the blonde shut the shower and eagerly crossed the short distance to his waiting bath. Cavendish placed one pale leg into the steaming rose petal water and could not hold back the groan of ecstasy that escaped his lips. Finally,  _ finally,  _ he could relax in a well-deserved bath.

As the water enveloped his body, Cavendish let all thoughts flow from his mind. He put the Heaven Stone out of his head. He let his stress and frustration dissolve into the water around him. He forced himself not to think about Bartolomeo and his unnerving red eyes. He focused only on the feeling of water on his skin and the patterns the rose petals made as they swirled gently around him. Eventually he closed his eyes and let himself drift.

The door to his private bath was suddenly slammed open, but Cavendish refused to break his calm. He knew who the intruder was before he even spoke.

“Yo, Cabbage, how long are you going to stay in here? You take forever, just like a girl. Whoa, you sleeping?” Bartolomeo, Cavendish decided, really liked to hear himself talk. 

“I’m not sleeping. What kind of idiot falls asleep in the bath?” Cavendish spoke without opening his eyes. “And I told you to wait outside.”

Cavendish heard Bartolomeo turn on the shower. 

“Ya well, you were taking your sweet time and my neck was starting to itch. ‘Sides, I could use a bath too. I reek.”

Cavendish snorted lightly, and he practically felt Bartolomeo scowl at him. The sound of the shower turned off a moment later, and Cavendish heard footsteps approach him. There was a pause, and the blonde wondered if Bartolomeo would actually dare to enter the bath. Cavendish wondered what he would do if Bartolomeo actually did dare.

“Of course you bathe with flowers everywhere. Fucking princely bastard.” Cavendish knew the words were meant as an insult, but the strain in Bartolomeo’s voice made it sound forced. Before Cavendish could call him out on it, the water shifted as Bartolomeo stepped in. The groan that left the man’s lips was borderline erotic.

Cavendish opened his eyes; not because he needed to verify that Bartolomeo had made such a sound, but because he refused to be defenceless with him in such close proximity. Yes, that was definitely the reason. 

Bartolomeo was blowing on the petals around him, trying to keep them from touching his skin, as if they would poison him. 

“I’m going to smell like  _ you  _ after this, aren’t I?” he complained.

“It would certainly be an improvement.”

“Bastard,” Bartolomeo said, but the warm water must have worked just as well on him as it did on Cavendish, because the word was weak and without fire.

Cavendish watched with what he hoped was an uninterested gaze as Bartolomeo fully reclined. This was the blonde’s private bathing quarters, and though his bath was not as large as his crew’s, it could still fit four people comfortably. Bartolomeo took advantage of the extra space, flinging his arms out wide to rest on the rim of the tub. The water only covered half his chest, and the top of the large black tattoo that spanned the majority of his torso was still visible. Despite Bartolomeo’s efforts, some rose petals managed to stick to his skin. The bright red contrasted with the thick black ink.

Cavendish moved his gaze up to the black ring around the other man’s neck and Bartolomeo lifted his jaw, as if to give the blonde a better view. Blue eyes flicked up to meet red, and Cavendish blushed at having been caught staring. This made Bartolomeo grin knowingly, pointed teeth on full display. 

“Like what you see?” Bartolomeo asked.

“I will drown your devil fruit ass, so help me,” Cavendish said, his voice a little too high.

But instead of pushing the subject, Bartolomeo just laughed. It wasn’t a mocking laugh, though. It was full and light and honest, as if he found Cavendish’s reply genuinely...funny. Before he could stop himself, Cavendish started to laugh too. He tried to cover it at first, hands quickly covering his mouth. Unfortunately, petals stuck to his fingers and he ended up almost snorting one up his nose. Bartolomeo laughed even harder, and just like that, Cavendish let go. He laughed until the embarrassment left him and the tension ebbed from his shoulders. He laughed brightly until his ribs hurt and he had to stop to suck in lungfuls of rose-scented air.

When he finally caught his breath, he noticed that Bartolomeo had fallen silent. He looked up to find the other man staring at him with the same odd expression as when he had first woken up. It was like he was trying to figure something out, but kept on falling short of any plausible conclusion. A sudden wave of insecurity filled Cavendish. What was Bartolomeo searching the blonde for, and what would happen when he found it?  What would happen if he didn't?

“What is it? You look like you’re about to bust a vein,” Cavendish whispered guardedly.

“Huh? Oh, it's nothin’,” Bartolomeo mumbled awkwardly. He ran his hands through his damp hair, which had fallen out of its usual shape. The water-darkened green strands lay slick against his head and stuck to his neck. Cavendish noticed that Bartolomeo’s hair was actually pretty long.

Cavendish rubbed his neck, an action that was quickly becoming a habit. Bartolomeo nodded towards his mark with interest.

“Does it hurt?”

Cavendish shook his head, “I can’t even feel it, I don’t even know if it's still there without looking in a mirror, or at you.”

“Or when it starts burning like a bitch,” Bartolomeo supplied helpfully.

“Or then,” Cavendish agreed.

“Man, this is some crazy bullshit.”

“The New World never fails to impress.”

They sighed in unison. 

“I suppose we should stop lounging around and start fixing this,” Cavendish said remorsefully. He really wanted to stay in the comfort of the water.

“Five more minutes won’t kill you.”

For once, Cavendish agreed.    
  


*************

Bartolomeo stood in front of the full length mirror in the corner of Cavendish’s room in nothing but a towel. It was one of those fancy pancy mirrors that split into three parts that you can bend to see yourself from different angles. Bartolomeo had never used one before, but he’d seen them in some high end boutiques here and there. Of course, he had been too busy robbing those places to ever stop and admire himself in a fucking mirror. He had to admit though, the thing was kind of fun. He was in the process of wiggling one of the panels to get a better look at his ass when Cavendish glided into the room.

The blonde man took one look at Bartolomeo’s position and scowled. Bartolomeo opened his mouth to vehemently deny that he was trying to get a nice view of his own ass, when Cavendish stormed over, pushed Bartolomeo until he was centered in front of the mirror, and expertly angled the two side panels to perfectly showcase his body from every angle. Well shit.

Cavendish silently nodded to himself at his handiwork, then proceeded to go about his business. Bartolomeo was left standing there with the mirror displaying his dumbfounded expression from multiple angles. He really didn’t understand what the fuck went on in Cavendish’s head. 

The blonde had sat at a desk with drawers and a mirror (that probably had some fancy name he didn’t know) and was combing his hair. His very long and silky hair. Ok, he should stop watching Cavendish. Bartolomeo definitely should  _ not  _ watch him comb delicate fingers through liquid gold strands, or notice how his blue silk robe fell slightly off steam-kissed shoulders, and he  _ really  _ should look away as a pale leg breaks through the slit in the fabric to cross over the other.

Bartolomeo wrenched his eyes away from the sight and tried to remember how to breathe. This wasn’t the first time he had looked at Cavendish, and despite his insults towards the man’s appearance, Bartolomeo wasn’t fucking  _ blind.  _ Cavendish was hot. He admitted that to himself when he first saw him in the Colosseum. So why was he being affected now? He literally just survived a fucking bath with the guy―though Cavendish kicked him out first so he didn’t actually see anything major― so why did seeing some leg cause such a reaction?

Bartolomeo’s mind flashed back to how Cavendish laughed in the bath; how his lips parted to reveal perfect teeth and how his brow furrowed cutely― ok no. No, no, no. NO. He needed to stop. He needed to get rid of all the lustful feelings that had popped up out of nowhere. He needed to burn them, bury them, drown them in whiskey. Bartolomeo was stuck with Cavendish and with all of the time they’d be spending with each other, the blonde was bound to notice if Bartolomeo started eye fucking him. Shit, Cavendish had almost caught him doing it back in the bath.

_ Get it together, man! _

Bartolomeo cleared his throat in an attempt to dislodge the lump of hysteria that was rapidly forming. But the sound made Cavendish turn and raise a perfect blonde eyebrow.

“I, um, do you, uhh,” Bartolomeo looked around the room frantically until his eyes landed on the variety of hair products Cavendish was using. “Gel! Do you have hair gel that I could, uhh, borrow?” Oh ya, that was really smooth.

Cavendish clearly noticed how strange Bartolomeo was acting, but he merely shrugged and tossed the blushing man a tube. Without pause, Bartolomeo flipped the lid and distracted himself by perfectly sculpting his hair into his signature style. The task thankfully allowed him to calm the fuck down.

The two of them managed to make themselves presentable in under fifteen minutes. Bartolomeo didn’t understand how though; he was literally in the same room as Cavendish and he couldn’t comprehend how the blonde managed to blow dry, curl and oil his hair, plus have time to balm his lips and pat his face with some skin lotion. Bartolomeo had some newfound respect for Cavendish’s beauty abilities, that’s for sure.

When they did leave, Bartolomeo let Cavendish lead him down the hallways, not caring where the man led him so long as they ended up around other people. He didn’t try to talk either; instead he chose to silently observe his surroundings. In all honesty, Bartolomeo had expected Cavendish’s ship to be lavishly decorated to the point of it looking ridiculous. But it wasn’t, if anything it just looked really clean. The walls were painted a solid pastel blue, ornate yet small lights hung at regular intervals on the ceiling, and every so often they’d pass a doorway or a painting. It was all really simple. 

Cavendish paused in front of a door and glanced over his shoulder to regard Bartolomeo with a calculating look. Surprised and a little unnerved, Bartolomeo quickly, defensively, asked him what the problem was.

“Nothing in particular,” Cavendish said, “I just didn't think you could go five minutes without talking. I'm shocked.”

“Oh fuck you.”

Cavendish ignored him and promptly opened the door. Bartolomeo had expected to end up on deck, but the blonde had led him to what seemed to be a stable. There were only a couple stalls, but the saddles and various grooming tools that lined the walls, as well as the feed buckets and hay, indicated that the room housed Cavendish’s horse. Sure enough, Bartolomeo saw a large white head poking over a stall gate, ears flicking towards them curiously. 

Bartolomeo watched Cavendish glide over to the stall, his pale hands gently brushing the horse’s muzzle. Cavendish pressed his forehead to the horse’s, and Bartolomeo looked away from the tender gesture. He felt like he was intruding on their reunion. 

Bartolomeo gazed around the room awkwardly, hoping to find something to distract himself. His distraction came in the form of an over-enthusiastic boy. Pepper appeared from the horse’s stall and, upon seeing his captain, immediately propelled himself towards Bartolomeo. 

Bartolomeo was not huge on hugging, but the look of glee in Pepper’s eyes as he threw his arms around Bartolomeo’s midsection made the man put up with the contact. He ruffled Peppers hair roughly, affectionately.

“YOU'RE OKAY,” the boy screamed happily.

“Ow fuck, Pep, don't yell in my face!” Bartolomeo tried to shove him away, but Pepper’s grip was unyielding.

“I thought you were going to DIE.”

“Oi, let go!”

“You weren't moving,” Pepper’s voice cracked, and Bartolomeo froze when he realized the boy was crying. “You were screaming and then you just―stopped. You didn't get up no matter what I did. It-it was my fault. I couldn't shoot straight and everyone got hurt ‘cuz of me. I-I’m sor-”

Bartolomeo grabbed the back of Pepper's head and pushed the boy’s face into his chest before he could finish his apology. There was no way he would let Pepper apologize for something that he couldn’t prevent. As the boy sobbed against him, Bartolomeo fought down a wave of guilt. He should have been next to Pepper from the beginning, he should have protected him, pride be damned.

“It’s not your fault, Pep,” Bartolomeo said, his words rough with emotion. “It’s mine.” He paused to brace himself, knowing his next words had to be chosen carefully. “You were right about what you said, back at the beach. I was responsible for getting Cabbage in trouble. But even if I use pride or stubbornness as an excuse for not helping him, there's no excuse for me abandoning one of my own.”

Bartolomeo knelt in front of Pepper, hands on the boy's shaking shoulders. “I should have gone with you, for your sake at least. Pep, I'm sorry for letting you down. You've probably realized that I'm not as perfect as you think I am. And I can't promise I'll ever change. But I'd appreciate it if you continued to give me shit when I'm being an idiot. Is that cool with you?”

By then, Pepper had valiantly suppressed his tears. Respect and adoration had replaced the sadness in his eyes, and he looked at Bartolomeo like he had when they had first met-- back when Pepper had been alone.

“Ya, that's cool.” Pepper nodded, a shy smile lighting his face.

“Awesome,” Bartolomeo held up a fist which Pepper immediately bumped with his own smaller one. “Now I heard you've been here for days. Go get some food and rest. We'll take it from here.”

Pepper, obviously tired from the emotional stress of the recent events, went willingly to obey orders. He ran to the horse, giving it one last pat on the nose, shyly bowed to Cavendish, then opened the door. He paused.

“Hey boss?” he whispered, “Thanks for coming after me.”

Bartolomeo swallowed the lump of affection in his throat and forced a cocky grin on his face.

“‘Course. Now get outta here you brat.”

Pepper flashed a grin of his own before disappearing behind the door. Bartolomeo sighed and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. He looked at Cavendish, who had his back to him. Bartolomeo knew the man had heard everything, despite his apparent disinterest. 

Cavendish ghosted his fingers over the horse’s bandaged shoulder. The horse bit at Cavendish’s bangs; a gesture that was meant, Bartolomeo assumed, to comfort. Bartolomeo had been shot before. He knew it wasn't fun, especially if the bullet got stuck in the flesh. Nasty little pain ball had to be dug out. He still had the scar on his thigh from all those years ago.

He cringed at the thought of what might have happened to Pepper if the horse hadn’t taken the bullet. Bartolomeo felt the nagging prick of guilt pierce his gut for what was probably the third time that day. That had to be his new fucking record. It seemed he wasn't  done with choking out apologies.

“Cabbage, about your horse…”

Cool blue eyes flicked up to look at him. There was a challenge in them, daring Bartolomeo to fling insults, as he had back on the beach. Now, Cavendish’s eyes promised retribution, where it had been withheld last time. 

But even Bartolomeo, who mocked and jested, had honour. 

“For the things I said about him, I'm sorry. I realize now how intelligent and brave he is. So, ya, I was wrong to say the shit I did. He saved Pepper’s life. I'm-- thankful for that.” The words were rough, but honest.

Cavendish’s only reaction to Bartolomeo’s apology was the infinitesimal widening of his eyes. They stared at each other, both tense, both unsure. Finally, Cavendish spoke.

“I see. I believe you are sincere, but it is not I who you should be apologizing to.” Cavendish’s voice was like silk.

Bartolomeo was confused for a fraction of a second before realization sunk in. He glanced at the horse, who watched him expectantly, then back at Cavendish’s level gaze. The bastard was really going to make him do it.

Fine then. 

Bartolomeo turned to fully face the horse.

“Your Horseliness,” he began, only to be cut off by Cavendish’s sharp ‘his name is Farul!’ Bartolomeo clenched his jaw and started again. “Farul, I was an ass to you back on the beach. I take back the things I said about you. You aren't just some dumb animal. You're actually pretty useful. Please forgive my lowly deeds. And thanks for saving Pep’s life.”

He finished of with a deep, if not over-dramatic bow, and gave the pair before him a questioning look. Had he passed their test?

Cavendish and Farul studied him. Farul flicked his ears mischievously and then bent to snort in Bartolomeo’s face.

“Eughff!!” Bartolomeo tried to wipe the spit from his face. “Fuck! You little-”

“Oh calm yourself. Farul was just playing. He forgives you, right boy?” Cavendish scratched Farul’s nose. Farul lifted his mighty head and dropped it forward again, the action resembling a nod.

Bartolomeo scowled.

“Well, I suppose I've put off attending to business long enough,” Cavendish sighed. “Let's get to it.”

Bartolomeo rolled his eyes, but followed the blonde. This time, Cavendish did lead him to the deck. As soon as they stepped out under the open sky, Bartolomeo regretted wanting to be around other people. 

The deck was crowded with pirates, mostly belonging to Cavendish’s crew, but some of his own nakama were loitering around as well. At their arrival, all eyes turned to watch the two captains. Cavendish ignored the attention. That, or he was probably so used to being stared at that he didn't even notice. Bartolomeo on the other hand, was keenly aware of the spectacle the two of them presented.

He tried not to think about how they must look. Cavendish, bright and completely comfortable on his own ship, had Bartolomeo uncomfortably trailing after him like an obedient dog. Bartolomeo couldn’t even break away to go talk to his crew or do anything  _ but  _ follow Cavendish, because the stupid devil fruit affect would go berserk if he strayed too far.

Bartolomeo had the feeling that this situation was going to subtly drive him insane. 

A door creaked and Bartolomeo noticed that they had entered another room. The walls were lined with maps, scrolls and books, most of which looked flaky and old. In the center of the room was a large circular table, where the purple-haired woman, as well as Gambia already sat. The woman stood when they entered, Gambia merely nodded. 

Their faces were pinched with stress and fatigue. Bartolomeo assumed they’d been running around and giving orders in the place of their captains. 

“Alright,” Cavendish sat next to the woman and gestured for Bartolomeo to do the same. Once settled, a serious mood filled the room. Cavendish twined his pale fingers together, his tight grip making the action look strained. “Let's have a chat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm having a LOT of fun writing this story and all of the comments so far make me so happy!!!  
> Unfortunately, this fic is going on hiatus until september :( I'm currently working on a writing portfolio to get into a university course, and its due at the end of august. Also, I want to write some oneshot bartocav fics for the #sharethelovemonth on tumblr (which starts aug 1st). I'll post those fics here, so keep an eye out. I'll update this as soon as all that stuff is finished. Thanks for understanding! See you in September and wish me luck!!


	11. Not an Alliance

Cavendish stood poised at the helm. Bartolomeo was beside him, though he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. They overlooked the vast deck of Cavendish’s ship, where a large crowd of pirates had gathered. Despite the camaraderie the two crews had shown on the beach, there was currently a very prominent divide between the groups. The atmosphere was tense. Cavendish and Bartolomeo had not appeared to their crews since _the_ _incident_ , and as a result, everyone on board―with the exception of Cyra and Gambia―was confused and unsure if they should trust the other party.

After a lengthy meeting, Cavendish and Bartolomeo were able to come to some semblance of an agreement regarding their course of action hence forth. The first matter to take care of was informing their crews about, well, everything.

Cavendish raised his hand in a gesture meant to silence the crowd. It worked to quiet his crew, who were used to watching their captain for such signals. Everyone knew Cavendish detested yelling commands. Unfortunately, Bartolomeo’s people were not as observant, and they continued to mutter amongst themselves. Cavendish frowned slightly.

Before he could speak, Bartolomeo suddenly barked loudly.

“Shut yer traps you Seaking bait!!”

Immediately, the deck went silent. Cavendish sighed.

“Would you kindly refrain from shouting in my ear?”  he said, low enough that only Bartolomeo would hear.

“What? I got their attention didn’t I?” 

“Yes, at the expense of my hearing. Would it greatly pain you to warn me next time?” 

“Sure thing, your highness. It would  _ greatly pain me  _ to cause you any discomfort.” Bartolomeo made sure to raise his voice with each word. Some people in the crowd looked at each other in confusion. 

Cavendish glared at him icily. Bartolomeo just glared back. 

_ Well this is a bloody fantastic start,  _ thought Cavendish bitterly. Cyra, who was at the front of the crowd, cleared her throat meaningfully. Cavendish broke eye contact and faced the crowd again. Bartolomeo grumbled but did the same.

Cavendish gathered his thoughts for a moment, then he began to speak. 

“As some of you may know, my crew came to this island to search for a legendary treasure. This treasure was unfortunately taken by the Blackrope pirates. Those of you from Bartolomeo’s crew helped me and my crew fight them off in the cave, and I am grateful for your assistance.” A number of Bartolomeo’s men puffed up proudly. “However, due to certain unfortunate events, the treasure was taken by their captain, a man named Hue von Franztence. During his escape, he surprised me with his devil fruit ability. It was unavoidable and hit me dead-on. The next second, I collided with Bartolomeo, which transferred the affect to him as well.”

Cavendish paused. He could only hope that the crowd would react calmly to the news of what the devil fruit had done to their captains.

“The details are still unclear, but from what we gather, the devil fruit prevents Bartolomeo and I from distancing ourselves from each other. Basically, if we move out of a certain range, I’ll estimate ten meters, we are essentially assaulted with intense inner pain. It is strong enough to cripple both of us.” Cavendish pushed back the high collar of his cape and swept his hair behind his shoulders. He bared his neck. “This band is a side effect. As long as it remains on our skin, we can assume the devil fruit effect is still active.”

He fixed his appearance. So far there had been no uprising of angry shouts or panic-driven questions. But just to make sure, Cavendish asked if there were any concerns to be addressed. Grim, uncertain, serious. They weren’t good expressions, but Cavendish could hardly hope for positive reactions after he just revealed that he was virtually glued to Bartolomeo for an indiscernible amount of time. Hell, Cavendish was still trying to deal with that information.

Cavendish glanced at Bartolomeo, silently questioning if he wanted to say something. Bartolomeo ignored him―the stupid bastard―so Cavendish took that as a sign to continue.

“After discussing possible courses of action, we have decided upon the obvious. We are going to track Franztence down, force him to undo this curse, steal back the treasure, and then send him and his crew to the bottom of the ocean.” Cavendish spoke with cold certainty. Whatever happened from here on out, he was not going to stop until he had Franztence speared on his sword. Cavendish had at least that to look forward to.

The crowd seemed to approve of the plan, and a few pirates even shouted their enthusiasm. 

“That’s all fine and dandy, but how exactly is this going to work?”

Cavendish looked around until he saw the man who’d spoken. He was from Bartolomeo’s crew.

“I mean,” he continued, “you two are stuck together, right? So you’ll have to stay on one ship...”

“Yes, that brings me to my next point. Henceforth, there will be several changes to how things will work. To start, Bartolomeo will be staying on my ship for the duration of this trip,” Cavendish declared. 

He was not at all surprised by the eruption of protests that followed. 

“Please allow me to explain,” Cavendish said. He was spectacularly ignored.

“We won’t allow it!”

“Boss, how could you agree to that?!”

“What are you playing at, Blondie?”

The barrage of questions and discontent was relentless. Cavendish was aware of his own crew’s restlessness. Driven by loyalty for their captain, and sensing the danger of a fight, more than a few hands inched towards their weapons. This was going to end badly.

“Oi, Cabbage, you’d better plug your ears.” 

That was the only warning he received before Bartolomeo opened his mouth and screamed.

“ **THAT’S ENOUGH!** ”

The effect was immediate. A deadly silence fell over the ship, and even the seagulls kept their beaks firmly shut. Cavendish had never heard anyone shout that loud. But the volume was just one aspect of it; the undeniable  _ command  _ that Bartolomeo managed to pack into two words was, frankly, impressive. Cavendish stared at Bartolomeo with wide eyes. And he wasn’t the only one. Pretty much all of the Beautiful pirates looked appropriately shocked. Bartolomeo’s crew just looked chastened. 

Cavendish allowed the smallest of smiles to fleet across his face. So Bartolomeo could command a crowd with ease? Noted. 

“Let him finish,” Bartolomeo snapped. He gestured for Cavendish to continue. Cavendish removed his hands from his ears and tried not to show his amusement on his face. And for some reason, he was  _ very  _ amused.

“As I was saying,” Cavendish began, “Bartolomeo will be staying on my ship. The fact is, I require various charts and tools that are here. Moving them all would be tedious. That is not to say that we will never move between the two vessels. And it will hardly prove to be impactful since we will be sailing next to each other anyways. Finding the treasure was originally my quest, therefore I will continue to lead the mission. Bartolomeo has the right to argue with me if something upsets him.”  _ Not that he needs an excuse to argue with me,  _ Cavendish thought. “However, since we aren’t exactly friends, we do not trust each other. The solution is this: a group of Bartolomeo’s men will be staying here as well. This will ensure that Bartolomeo is sufficiently protected.”

“Like I need protecting,” Bartolomeo grouched.

“Likewise, a handful of my own crew will stay upon Bartolomeo’s ship. This will act as an assurance that I will not simply sail off with Bartolomeo and hand him over to the highest bidder as soon as I reverse the devil fruit effects.” Cavendish smirked at the thought. “Are these terms satisfactory for both parties?”

No one looked happy, but no further objections arose. 

“Excellent.” Cavendish clapped his hands sharply. “Let’s all work together to make this as painless as possible.”

Cavendish smiled radiantly, which caused a number of faces to flush red. He had said his part and waited expectantly for Bartolomeo to add something. After a beat of awkward silence, Bartolomeo seemed to realize this, and he quickly addressed the crowd.

“Uh, ya, everything he said.” Bartolomeo stated lamely. Cavendish was close enough to see the slight tremble in the man’s clenched fists. Another pause followed,  where Bartolomeo probably struggled to come up with something else to say. “Uh, let's work together to get this fucker, then go back to killing each other!”

Bartolomeo’s words were loud, but they lacked their usual wild confidence. No one else seemed to notice, because the crowd erupted into cheers of agreement. Cavendish might have imagined the change, but as he watched Bartolomeo from the corner of his eye, he saw him let out a small sigh. Cavendish noted this too, mentally adding it to the list of things he was learning about Bartolomeo.

*****

The rest of the day passed in a flurry of activity. Cavendish and Bartolomeo stayed on deck to give their orders; and there were a lot of orders to give. Groups of pirates were sent to town to buy supplies, new den den mushi were set up for communication between the two crews, and Cavendish commanded that the Blackrope Pirate’s camp was to be looted and then burned to the ground. 

Over the course of the afternoon, Cavendish and Bartolomeo were approached by members of their crews who wanted to volunteer to act as ‘ambassadors’ on each other's ships. In the end, Cavendish chose Giulio (one of his chefs), Tara (the assistant navigator) and Kozu, who practically begged for the job. Predictably, Gambia chose to stay with Bartolomeo. It was obvious just by watching the two of them speak that they were extremely close.

Cavendish half listened to Gambia argue with Bartolomeo about the necessity of moving his ‘Strawhat shrine’ onto the blonde's ship. Bartolomeo insisted that it was important that he could wake up and greet the posters and recently acquired autographs of the strawhat crew every morning. Gambia insisted that Bartolomeo was being a childish idiot. Cavendish thought they were both wasting their breath. There was no way he was going to allow the shrine within throwing distance of his ship.

“Have you decided how many others will be staying with you? I need to set up the proper amount of accommodations,” Cavendish interrupted.

Bartolomeo glanced away from Gambia briefly. He frowned in thought for about 2.7 seconds before replying shortly, “Pepper.”

“Pepper?” Cavendish echoed. “Are you certain? I didn't even see him volunteer.”

Bartolomeo sighed impatiently. Clearly he wanted to get back to arguing with Gambia.

“He didn’t ask me; but he will. He's probably off in some corner coming up with some speech to convince me it's a good idea,” he said dismissively.

“And you think it is a good idea?”

“Look,” Bartolomeo turned fully to stare at Cavendish, “Pepper's going to do everything he can to keep his ass on this ship, and I have no solid reason to stop him. So I'd rather skip the part where we argue, he shows insubordination, then feels bad about it so decides to go off and shoot someone to prove himself to me. I don't need him being reckless like that, cuz you and I found out the hard way that I can't always be there to protect him. I'm his captain and I say he stays with me, where I can keep an eye on him. And I'd appreciate it if you don't question my every decision. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not always an idiot. I've made it this far on my own and I've kept my men safe while I was at it. So we done here?”

Cavendish eyed Bartolomeo cooly. He hadn't intended to set the man off, he only wanted to check that Bartolomeo wasn’t making frivolous choices. But Bartolomeo was a captain just like Cavendish. They were equal in status and power. True, they had very,  _ very _ different methods of operation; but no one got this far into the New World on blind luck. Cavendish needed to give Bartolomeo more credit.

But most of all he needed to keep their relationship peaceful. The last thing he wanted was to deal with a pissed off Bartolomeo, because a calm Bartolomeo was difficult enough to deal with. So Cavendish swallowed his pride.

“I did not mean to insult your capabilities. I apologize if it appeared that way. I assure you, it won't happen again.” Cavendish paused. “Unless you really deserve it.”

Bartolomeo snorted.

“You just had to add that last part. But that goes both ways so I guess that's fair,” he grinned.

“Yes, well, with that matter settled, I believe is time to discuss this shrine problem.” Cavendish began.

“Uhh, ok?”

“It is not coming on my ship.” Cavendish’s tone was absolutely chilling. “End of discussion.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I'm back. I'm sorry that this chapter isn't exciting, but it needed to happen. I promise more fun in the next one.  
> I know I said I'd write some one shots for that event on tumblr during august, but I've been in a funk lately. For those of you that care, I didn't get into my writing program. So that's not exactly helping my confidence at the moment.   
> Anyway, school starts next week and updates will probably get more sporadic, so please bear with me as I gat back on my feet.   
> As always, thanks for reading :):):)


	12. No Rest for the Wicked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello yes I'm alive. Uni has been repeatedly kicking me in the head tho. The struggles. Anyway, here's wonderwall...

To say that their sleeping arrangements were awkward would be a massive understatement. Cavendish’s once meticulously designed room had been completely rearranged to accommodate Bartolomeo. Cavendish’s dressers were all shoved against one wall to make room for a cot that would be Bartolomeo’s bed, the boudoir now had double the hair products piled onto it, and Cavendish’s beloved chaise had to be removed from the room because there simply was not enough space. For someone who didn’t even wear shirts, Bartolomeo had an obscene amount of clothing. He had brought three chest-fulls of tacky pants and fur-lined coats and Cavendish’s head hurt from staring at the vibrant patterns. The dresser he had cleared for Bartolomeo’s use had filled up quickly, and Cavendish had been forced to share his precious closet space. The only thing that did not change was Cavendish’s bed, which couldn’t be moved due to the chains bolted to the wall on either side of it.

But the physical changes to his room were not the cause of Cavendish’s carefully hidden panic. The true reason for his distress was that he would be rooming with Bartolomeo at all. For obvious reasons, he had not slept in the same room as anyone for nearly a decade (excluding when he had passed out with the strawhats on Dressrosa, which was unavoidable). Every night he takes measures to ensure the safety of his crew. He has Cyra chain him to the wall and lock his bedroom door from the  _ outside,  _ every damn night. Whenever they make land, Cavendish still slept on his ship, even when a hotel would be more convenient. During sleep was the only time when Cavendish could not control Hakuba. It was the time that he was most dangerous.

And Bartolomeo would have to be put in a dangerous position because they had no other options.

Memories began to crawl their way up from the deepest part of Cavendish’s mind: memories of his childhood, of dark nights and even darker days. A shiver of fear slipped down his spine and Cavendish grit his teeth against it. He could feel Hakuba purr within him, as if the memories were nostalgic instead of outright horrifying. 

Cavendish pulled a rose petal out of his sleeve and bit down on it, hard.

“Oi, Cabbage,” Bartolomeo called from the closet, “can you move your 17 pairs of shoes? They’re in my way. How many boots could you possibly need―holy fuck are those  _ heels?! _ ”

Cavendish stomped into the closet and grabbed the pumps from Bartolomeo’s unworthy hands.

“These are not just heels, you ape! These are custom made designer pumps crafted especially for me by Victor Bluewing. Do you have any idea how much I went through to get my hands on these? These shoes cost more than your ship and if you touch them again I will personally cut off your fingers.”

“Alright relax! I won’t touch them.” Bartolomeo eyed the shoes thoughtfully. “Are they really Bluewing?”

Cavendish raised an eyebrow and flipped the shoes to show the gold insignia on the inside. Bartolomeo whistled.

“I’m surprised you know who Victor Bluewing is,” Cavendish said, a little too excitedly.

“Give me some credit. You’d have to live under a rock to not know the most famous designer in the world.”

“So you don’t live under a rock then? Suppose I owe Kozu twenty belli,” Cavendish smirked.

“Okay, rude.”

Cavendish carefully placed the shoes back in their box and made sure to store them on the highest shelf, well out of reach from prying hands. After a few more minutes of silent work, the mess of clothing and boxes morphed back into something resembling an organized closet. Once he realized he was finished moving in, Bartolomeo collapsed face down onto his cot.

Cavendish wanted nothing more than to crawl between the satin sheets of his own bed, but his nerves were wrung tight like a wire. He picked at the non-existent dirt underneath his nails as he tried to think of something to occupy him.

Perhaps he should go check the main deck one more time, to make sure everything was running smoothly of course. But no, he would have to bring Bartolomeo along, which would most definitely  _ not _ relax him. At all.

He could lock himself in the bath and wait for his growing anxiety to disappear, but if that morning was anything to go by, Bartolomeo would probably barge in if he took too long. Cavendish made a mental note to discuss some house rules with Bartolomeo in the morning. He was not going to put up with whatever bad habits Bartolomeo undoubtedly had. This was his ship for Roger’s sake.

He glanced at Bartolomeo, hoping to find him passed out so they wouldn't have to awkwardly dance around each other as they got ready for bed. But Bartolomeo was not asleep. Bartolomeo was watching him, his eyes hooded but attentive.

Cavendish became instantly aware of how he must look, standing in the middle of his own room looking lost and unsure, hands fidgeting idly. Cavendish forced himself to stand up taller and he raised his chin in a way that was supposed to be confident, though he suspected it came off as defensive.

“What?” Cavendish snapped.

“I have literally done nothing and yet you are still so damn  _ touchy. _ ” Bartolomeo sat up and crossed his legs on the cot -- with his shoes still  _ on _ \-- and fiddled with his earring. He didn't say anything more, but the stifling atmosphere was easy enough to read. Bartolomeo was uncomfortable.

On some level, this relieved Cavendish because he was not the only one affected by the situation. On every other level, he was freaking out.

Was Bartolomeo uncomfortable because he had to share a room with his enemy? Were they even considered enemies at this point? They certainly weren't friends. Perhaps ‘stranger’ was the best word at the moment. So was Bartolomeo worried about sleeping in a room with a stranger, or was it something else entirely?

Maybe it was much more personal. Maybe bunking with a stranger was a better option for Bartolomeo than bunking with a man who turned into a bloodthirsty murder machine during sleep. No one would be relaxed, or dumb, enough to sleep soundly while a deadly monster slept just feet away. Not even Bartolomeo was that conceited--or stupid.

Cavendish once again felt the pressure of anxiety crush his ribs. He thought he could handle this set up. He thought that he had become strong enough, gained enough control over his body to deal with this problem. But the fear was there, hidden beneath years of training and built-up confidence.

There was always the fear of ‘what if?’

What if the chains restraining him broke? What if Bartolomeo wasn't woken up by the creak of metal or the rustle of sheets, as Cavendish struggled for control? What if he wasn't awake to protect himself with his barrier?

Cavendish could kill him, and Bartolomeo wouldn't even  _ know. _

Bartolomeo was a pirate, and had every reason to mistrust Cavendish. He probably had not grasped just how much trust he was putting in Cavendish to not stab his heart as he slept.

“Oi.”

Cavendish almost flinched.

“What is it now?”

“Fuck, are you always this bitchy at night or do i just get special treatment?” Bartolomeo watched as Cavendish pulled another petal from within his coat and shoved it between his teeth.

“I apologize if our current arrangement does not fill me with great enough pleasure to be anything other than ‘bitchy’ at the moment,” Cavendish snapped.

Bartolomeo rolled his eyes. “Not this shit again. I thought this topic was settled at the announcement earlier. Plus,  _ you  _ were the one that said we should try to get along so this would be as painless as possible.”

“Yes well, easier said than done I suppose.”

All at once Bartolomeo’s demeanor changed. His body went rigid, his face became a mask of hard neutrality. He stood up, grabbed some towels, and walked to the bathroom. He paused before closing the door and said, “I don't think you're even trying.”

The door slammed shut.

Cavendish tried to ignore the guilt that pricked at his gut. He had snapped at Bartolomeo just hours after they had promised to work together. Cavendish was anxious and frankly a few steps past terrified, but it was unfair of him to turn his emotions against Bartolomeo. He would apologize when the other man returned from the bathroom. In the meantime, Cavendish needed to get his shit together.

He tried to calm his mind by focusing on his nightly routine. Every move he made was echoed by a mental narration.   _ Move to the wardrobe. Take off clothes. Put on loose pajama pants. Don't think about Hakuba and the real possibility of losing control...Damn it. _

There was a brief knock on his door followed by the appearance of Cyra. She looked around, puzzled, but did not comment on Bartolomeo’s absence. Instead, she studied Cavendish quietly. He must seem really pathetic, standing alone looking lost in his own room, hands still trembling, fear easier to spot in his eyes than the colour blue. Cyra took it all in without blinking. She moved towards him and the moment her hand touched his shoulder, Cavendish collapsed against her.

She supported him, embraced him tightly. Cavendish had needed this, the non judgemental comfort of a friend, since he woke up this morning. He had waited through painful hours of pretend confidence for this feeling. All day he had been stuck with Bartolomeo, unable to allow himself a moment of weakness. Cyra’s hand carded through his hair, a physical reassurance. 

“Breathe, captain. I'm here.” Her voice was like a flame, warm and steady.

“I don't want this. He'll see me, Cyra. Even if I don't end up killing him, he'll  _ see me.” _

“Shh, I have you. If you want me to stay here, I will.”

Cavendish considered it. Out of everyone on this ship, she was the best equipped to deal with Hakuba. But she would still be at risk. Besides, she was the keyholder, and no matter how skillful she was, having the key in the same room as the lock was just foolish conceit. 

“No, it isn't wise. I trust you with my life but I can't ask you for this. I have to fight this on my own. I've run from this my entire life, but it was only a matter of time until something like this happened. I've become too reliant on my safety nets, so to speak.”

They pulled away from each other. Cyra’s mouth was pulled down in the barest hints of a frown. Cavendish smiled weakly and tapped her shoulder gently.

“This is just another level I have to defeat,” he said.

“But do you have to do it alone?”

“You know better than anyone that my battle is a lonely one,” he said grimly as memories of their past flashed through his mind.

Cyra actually frowned. “You know that was my fault. You warned me and I didn't listen--”

“My blade, my fault.” They had fought this argument countless times before, to no end. They both knew drawing it out was a waste of time.

“Alright. You handle it your way. But you better come to me if you need me for anything. Looking at you pout all day was extremely annoying,” she grumbled.

“You have my word.” 

Cavendish stretched and glanced at his bed. He could feel his exhaustion, both physical and emotional, now that his anxiety had been momentarily soothed. He padded over and slid underneath his sheets. Cyra snorted but took that as her cue. She fell into the familiar pattern of locking Cavendish’s wrists in metal cuffs. Once she was done, she retreated to the foot of his bed.

“He sure is taking his time in there,” she mused, nodding towards the bathroom.

“I suspect that's my fault,” Cavendish said guiltily, “I may have taken out my frustration on him.”

“For all your charms, you never were good at making friends,” Cyra smirked.

“I managed to snag someone as lovely as you though.”

“And there's the charm.”

Cavendish smiled, but quickly sobered.

“I'm serious. You're too good to me. Thank you,” he said softly. Cyra smiled fondly.

“Is there anything else you need?”

“Not today. Tomorrow morning I might require the strongest tea we have on board, though.”

“Aye, Captain. Goodnight.” To Cavendish it sounded more like ‘good luck”. 

“Goodnight, Cyra.”

She was gone with the soft click of the door and the metallic scratch of a lock being turned into place.

Cavendish was left alone. Or as alone as he could be with two other unavoidable entities occupying his mind and room. It was strange; Cavendish was accustomed to the constant malicious presence of Hakuba, but he was not used to the more physical signs of another person casually existing with him.

Though Bartolomeo was not near him, Cavendish could still feel his presence. Bartolomeo was there, in the disturbed sheets on his cot, he was in the scattered boots across the floor, in the faint sound of running water a room over. Cavendish’s room had always just been  _ his _ . Sharing his space with someone, when he had never done so before was so….intimate.

Cavendish wrestled with the idea of spatial intimacy for a good five minutes before Bartolomeo finally left the bathroom. His hair was damp and pulled back into a loose bun that was doing less to hold his hair and more to just keep it out of his face. The face which Cavendish glued his eyes to because Bartolomeo was wearing nothing but a towel over his shoulder and bright red briefs. Suddenly Cavendish’s mind thought of a different kind of intimacy.

“You took your time,” Cavendish said, just to say something before his mind could go too far down  _ that  _ road. Unfortunately, in his haste to speak he forgot to control his tone, and his words turned accusatory.

Bartolomeo snorted roughly. “Don't worry, I didn't use up all your water, Your Highness.”

“That's not what I-” Cavendish cut off as Bartolomeo turned around. Bartolomeo’s back looked so much wider without his coat on. “I didn't mean it like that.”

“Then what did you mean?” Bartolomeo did not turn.

“I wanted to apologize.”

“Oh, this should be good.”

Cavendish glared but pushed on. He was in the wrong and he would apologize even if Bartolomeo was going to make it as difficult as possible.

“I have trouble sleeping in front of other people. You've seen first hand that I can't always control Haku--” he bit his lip, “my less appealing half. I became nervous when the reality of us sharing a room took hold of me. I let my emotions get the better of me and I took it out on you. I'm sorry. Truly. I do want to try to get along.”

Cavendish held his breath as Bartolomeo absorbed his words. The silence stretched for nearly a minute before Bartolomeo’s shoulders relaxed. He finally looked at Cavendish, eyes guarded but empty of hostility.

“There have been more apologies today than in the entirety of my shitty life. My badboy image won't survive at this rate.”

“I won't tell if you don't,” Cavendish offered. Bartolomeo’s grin was all teeth. And just like that, they were reconciled. Cavendish raised one chained wrist for Bartolomeo to see, “Would you mind getting the lights?”

The moment the room went dark, Cavendish felt his pulse spike. He was really about to do this. He heard Bartolomeo settle in his cot, and he debated warning the other man to watch his back. His throat closed around the words. Cavendish swallowed drily and tried to relax. Minutes passed and Cavendish timed them in his head. No matter how hard he forced himself to lay still and keep his eyes closed, his heartrate would not calm down. He could hear Bartolomeo’s breathing, and the occasional creak as his heavy body shifted restlessly on the small cot. Cavendish imagined he wasn’t the only one struggling to find rest. 

  
Eventually, Cavendish noted the absence of movement, and the long, distinctive exhales that indicated sleep. He was impressed it took Bartolomeo only thirty three minutes and fifteen second to pass out. For his part, Cavendish did not manage to sleep a wink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, Victor Bluewing is not a yoi reference (this chapter has been in the works since september believe it or not), the matching name was just a happy coincidence.  
> Thanks for waiting for this, you're all great :)


	13. UPDATE***

Hello readers! Im just making this announcement so you know whats happening with this fic. Last year I had a lot of personal shit to handle so many of my projects got boxed up and moved to the attic so to speak. But Im better now and Im going to start updating this story again soon. Its been a year, I wonder if anyone is still interested lol. Anyway I will be posting, but it wont be weekly. Im aiming for a chapter a month, maybe two if I really put my mind to it.  
So thanks to everyone for their patience, I really appreciate it ♡♡♡♡


	14. Slow Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya so this was supposed to be february's chapter and its shorter than I wanted it to be and nothing really happens....but its been a while and I need to get back into the swing of things. Please forgive me OTL

Three days. It had been three days since Cavendish had woken up to discover that he was tied to Bartolomeo. In all honesty, he had expected that his ship would be on fire by now, with everyone at each other’s throats. It was, quite frankly, a miracle that blood had yet to be spilled.

After the first day, where Cavendish and Bartolomeo tried to reconcile themselves with their unfortunate situation, the past two had been a breeze. Yesterday they had decided on a heading and promptly set sail before fate could thrust any more misfortunes upon them. The only problem was that no one knew where to start looking for that bastard Franztence. The prisoners refused to rat him out, dispite Cavendish’s best efforts to get them to squeal. Even after Bartolomeo’s attempted (and more hands-on) interrogation, none of the prisoners said a word. It left Cavendish frustrated and unsure of his next move. After a long discussion with Bartolomeo, where they managed to be civil, they agreed that their best course of action would be to sail to the next island and hope that they could find some clues there. It was not a good plan. Really, it was barely a plan at all. But it was the best they could come up with, given what little information they had.

Cavendish looked out towards the horizon from where he stood leaning against the starboard railing. The sun was getting low, and Cavendish dreaded the oncoming night. He had barely slept five hours the past two nights because he was too afraid of all the horrors he could unleash. His insomnia hadn’t been this bad since his adolescent years. Not wanting to relive memories from the worst years of his life, Cavendish looked around for a distraction.

Most of his crew were below deck, likely crowding the dining hall since dinner would be served soon. Cyra, ever the workaholic, was stationed by the helm next to Cavendish’s head navigator. He had warned the captains that a storm was brewing in the east, and though they could avoid the worst of it, they would likely encounter rain sometime during the night. 

Cavendish’s eyes fell on Bartolomeo next. He sat a few feet away and was passing the time by creating geometric shapes out of his barriers, each one more complex than the last. Outside of business matters, they had barely spoken a word to one another. Cavendish wasn’t sure if the silence was due to their mutual dislike for each other, or simply because they didn’t quite know what to say. They didn’t have a good track record of polite small talk, and now that they were supposed to be working together, it was like they were strangers again. Their relationship had gone from hated enemy to….Cavendish didn’t know what. The heart of the problem was that they had to play  _ nice  _ now, but past insults were not so easily forgotten. 

“What are you looking at?” Bartolomeo demanded. It was then that Cavendish realized that he had been staring at Bartolomeo for longer than was socially appropriate. He cleared his throat and averted his gaze.

“Nothing, I simply got lost in thought,” Cavendish said. Bartolomeo narrowed his eyes but let the subject drop.

“I’m starving. Can we go eat now, or do you need another hour to stare at the sunset dramatically?”

“I wasn’t being dramatic,” Cavendish muttered.

“Whatever you say, Blondie.” Bartolomeo stood and stretched, arms over his head. “What’s on the menu tonight?”

“I believe the chef said something about goldfin trout fillet with potatoes and vegetable soup,” Cavendish replied mildly. Bartolomeo whistled, low and long.

“I gotta say, there's alot about this situation that I don't like, but the food here is a major plus. It’s only been a few days and already I feel myself getting fat.”

“Maybe you should do more than just laze around all day.”

Bartolomeo scowled. He gestured around them, at the calm sea and vacant deck.

“Hate to break it to you, but there isn’t much here for me to fight.”

Cavendish rolled his eyes. Of course Bartolomeo would see violence as the best way to work up a sweat. He was definitely one of those people that started a brawl in a pub simply because it would be fun to punch some strangers.

“I meant that you could do some push-ups or whatnot. Why are you always so eager for conflict?” Cavendish asked. He meant it rhetorically, and was therefore surprised when Bartolomeo opened his mouth to answer.

“Conflict is what I’m good at, your Highness,” Bartolomeo said, shrugging indifferently. “Making plans, sneaking around, I don’t get it. I’d rather face my problems head on, and when there aren’t people to beat up, I get restless. Sometimes I don’t know what to do with myself between fights.”

Cavendish didn’t know how to reply. The unexpected honesty took him completely by surprise. Bartolomeo turned to look at Cavendish when the silence stretched too long. His red eyes widened with the realization of what he just said.

“Fuck, uh, forget I said that,” Bartolomeo floundered. “I did  _ not  _ mean to say that.”

A couple weeks ago, Cavendish would have leapt at the chance to needle Bartolomeo about his slip up, but even though it may have been unintentional, Bartolomeo had given Cavendish a personal piece of himself. Now he stood, eyes averted, as if waiting for Cavendish to mock him for it. 

There was no way Cavendish was going to pick at Bartolomeo’s vulnerability. Instead he would give something in return.

“I hate fighting,” he said. Bartolomeo jerked his head up at the confession. “Battles can turn chaotic at the drop of a hat, and if I’m not careful, if I don’t stay completely calm, there is always a risk that I could lose myself. I’ve trained for years to prevent such a thing from occurring, but no matter what people tell me, I am not perfect.”

They watched each other awkwardly, their secrets hanging between them like a thread waiting to snap. When the fallout never came, Cavendish hesitantly began to relax. He cleared his throat daintily. 

“I believe we were on our way to dinner to satiate your overwhelming hunger?”

Bartolomeo blinked, “Right. Ya, we should get on that. My hunger needs...satiating.” 

Putting the conversation and awkwardness behind them, they made their way to the dining hall in bewildered silence.

The hall was full when they entered, and many of the crew raised a glass to hail the arrival of the captains. Cavendish looked around for a seat and, finding a few vacancies, chose a table at random. Yesterday, Bartolomeo had voiced his surprise at discovering that Cavendish did not have a table of his own. Cavendish had waved the comment off, taking only slight offence at the words. It was true that most people assumed he demanded pampering fit for a prince, and in some cases, Cavendish did have perks as the captain; his bed and bath suite being one of them. However, Cavendish did not think it appropriate to isolate himself from his crewmates. He may be their leader, but they were all his trusted friends.

Sometimes he still couldn’t believe he managed to make so many.

But that was besides the point. At every meal Cavendish sat where there was room or where he was invited. Today that meant he ended up sharing a table with Kozu and his two shipwrights,  May and Mio. They were twins, and absolutely fantastic at their job. It was because of their efforts that the ship was always sparkling with beauty.

“‘Ello, Captains,” Kozu greeted as Cavendish and Bartolomeo took their seats. Cavendish waved over one of the waiters to place his request for a glass of white wine to go with his fish. Bartolomeo asked for hard alcohol, the barbarian. “Busy day?”

“Quite the contrary. Nothing much to do until the next island,” Cavendish said. He sighed, his earlier frustration rising to the surface again.

“Hmm, you look pretty beat, Cap. Maybe a few slow days will do you some good.”

Cavendish doubted it. He didn’t think he’d get a good night’s sleep until he caught Franztence and made him pay for his actions.

Their food and drinks arrived, and after thanking the server, they set into their meals. Bartolomeo wolfed his down and asked for seconds within five minutes. The five of them made polite smalltalk for a while, but soon the hall grew empty as the crew went off to do their evening chores. Only those preparing for nightwatch remained. Bartolomeo and Cavendish stayed after Kozu and the twins left. 

The quick patter of feet warned them of Pepper’s arrival. The boy practically jumped into the seat opposite them, and grinned excitedly.

“Hi-ya, Boss and Captain!”

Cavendish smiled. Pepper always tired to be so respectful with him, and his efforts were amusing to watch.

“Hello, Pepper,” Cavendish greeted.

“What’s up? You’re in a good mood,” Bartolomeo said.

Pepper bounced in his seat.

“Big sis Cyra said she would teach me some knife techniques if I got your guys’ permission! Isn’t that great? She’s so cool and badass, I can’t believe she’ll help me out!”

Cavendish and Bartolomeo looked at eachother. This was news to them. Pepper watched them with wide, hopeful eyes, turning up the charm a couple notches. Cavendish sipped at his tea, which he had traded the wine for on his second glass. 

“I have no problem with it, though I warn you that Cyra is quite the strict teacher.” Bartolomeo cut him a glare. “What? You can still say no.”

For a moment, Cavendish thought Bartolomeo  _ would _ refuse. He didn’t seem overjoyed with the idea. Pepper’s enthusiasm wavered, but he did not beg. He simply sat there and anxiously waited for Bartolomeo to finish thinking. 

“Alright,” Bartolomeo said at last, “you can learn from her. But no sneak attacks with the knives, got it? I don’t particularly like stab wounds. Also, I want you to promise me right now that you won’t go charging into fights just cuz you learned a few tricks.”

Pepper was nodding his head, “I promise! I’ll be totally responsible, no more reckless Pepper.”

“Good. Now go to bed it’s late.”

“It’s, like, barely nine o’clock,” Pepper whined.

“I, like, don’t give a shit.” Bartolomeo made a flicking motion with his hand. “Scram, there’s nothing for you to do and I don’t want you disrupting the deck. Sleep or don’t, just stick to the barracks.”

“Fiiiiine,” Pepper conceded. He hopped up and turned to Cavendish. “Thank you, Cavendish, sir.”

“Such good manners, unlike your captain,” Cavendish praised. “You’re most welcome.” 

Pepper’s face went red when Cavendish gave him a kind smile.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Bartolomeo grumbled. 

“G’night,” he squeaked, and hurried away.

Cavendish couldn’t help but laugh at Bartolomeo’s annoyed expression.

“Is this how you live? Does everyone on this planet fucking crush on you?”

“Not everyone,” Cavendish shrugged, “You seem to be an exception.”

Of course, Cavendish did love to tease, and teasing Bartolomeo in particular was especially fun; so Cavendish faced Bartolomeo more fully, resting the full weight of his hooded gaze on the other man. He tilted his head and brought his hand up to put a finger to his lips, making sure to brush Bartolomeo’s arm on the way. He was rewarded by Bartolomeo’s stuttered breathing and the blush on his nose.

“Though I wonder if that’s completely true,” Cavendish purred.

Bartolomeo blushed harder, but tried to hide his reaction behind a scowl.

“You look ridiculous, Cabbage. Stop trying to be coy, I still hate your guts,” Bartolomeo said.

There was a small pang of something like disappointment in Cavendish’s chest. He brushed away the feeling, telling himself he would have felt the same way if a stranger had said something similar. His ego was bruised, nothing more.

“Is that so?” he mused.

“Yes, that is so. Now can we get out of here?” Bartolomeo threw back the rest of his drink and stood up to leave. He was clearly disgruntled, and Cavendish had to hide a smirk in his cup so Bartolomeo wouldn’t become more agitated. Cavendish finished his tea then followed Bartolomeo out into the hallway. The walk back to Cavendish’s room was slow, neither of them particularly eager to go to bed just yet. When they did make it to the room, they readied themselves without a word between them.

Later that night, Cavendish lay awake listening to the sound of the storm. Bartolomeo jerked every now and then with the thunder, but he never woke up completely. The hours crawled by, but no matter how much Cavendish’s eyelids drooped, there was no rest for him. 

Insomnia was a bitch. 

To pass the time, he fantasized about finding Franztence, and imagined what he would do to him once he was at Cavendish's mercy. The things he envisioned made Hakuba roar with pride. 

_ You’re just like me,  _ Hakuba sang.

It was an old argument, but tonight, Cavendish didn’t have the energy to argue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like what I do you can check out ways to support me [ here. ](http://c-dragon-pirates.tumblr.com/supportme)  
> As always, thanks for reading!


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